


running to you, running from you

by venomedveins



Series: of magic & monsters [3]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Fluff, M/M, Magic, Magic Sex (Use of magic during sex), Mpreg, Multi, Past Germancest, Past Stories, Shifters, Smut, Threat of Non-Con (Light), Vampires, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3807496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wishes he was a stronger man. Agron wishes he was able to turn away, refuse Nasir even if it hurt him. It is for the greater good. But, Agron isn't the strong selfless leader that Spartacus thinks he is. Nor is he the shining god that Duro pretends. He's the alpha wolf, a snarling beast first and the man falls behind, the vessel for the monster. </p><p>“I'm no good for you,” Agron shakes his head, kisses Nasir again, before pulling back. “I'm a bad man.”</p><p>“You're my man.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	running to you, running from you

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you so fucking much to miss habibinasir, which without this wouldn't have been fucking possible. 
> 
> Also, thanks to everyone who has reviewed and commented and sent me super nice messages on tumblr. I love all of it!
> 
> And last but not least, thank you so much to joewraithwood, who drew me this amazing [fanart](http://joewraithwood.tumblr.com/post/115616185910/venomedveins-happy-late-birthday-i-hope-you-like) for my birthday! It is the wedding scene from this series. I love it!

Time passes. It moves on through in countless hours, a ticking of a new life. Nasir heals, under Pietros' strick supervision and Naevia's laughing gossip, filling him in on the workings of the city. She is more of an asset than Nasir originally thought she'd be, gentle in her ferocity as both a warrior but also a friend. Mira comes by from time to time, glowing in her way, with plates of fruit and more gossip to add. She is in the process of planning her wedding to Spartacus, and she often requires Nasir's opinions. 

They help him clean the tent, roll back the walls to air things out. Unpacking tiny trinkets from Nasir's small wagon, he hangs fabric around the bed and tiny crystals that catch the light, shattering rainbows all over when Nasir lights the candles at night. Growing grass in the corner, Nasir separates the tub with long white curtains, filling the room with the comforts he knows and Agron deserves. It's all he has left of his old life. A phantom hope that the joy he knew before will continue on. 

At the end of it all, Pietros and him hold hands, send their magic into the ground, fill the air with the scent of it, and bless the space.

\- - - 

Tiny lilac blossoms float along the top of the water, stream curling around them, filling the air with the scent of them. The tub is huge, beat copper with high sides that deep down in the center in a soft slope. The water was carried in early, brought in by over a dozen women who all kept their heads down but peaked through their hair at Nasir, who lay sleeping on the bed. Agron had hushed them, making sure the fire was started to warm the water before ushering them out, using a gentle hand through Nasir's hair to wake him up. 

Under the water, Nasir slides his hands along his hips, trailing his fingers over to toy with his navel ring. It's only been two weeks, but still, Nasir is half expecting for him to wake up with a bloated stomach. He's kept the sickness fairly well hidden, hiding it from both Pietros and Naevia by claiming he wants to nap to save energy. It stills robs him of energy, reduced down to water and bread if he wants to keep anything down. 

Agron has not been around too much since the forest incident. He spends his time sparring with Spartacus and going to the council meetings. Even when he's here, he does not touch Nasir. They sleep in the same bed but there is a divide there, until sleep over takes them. Agron starts sprawled on his back or on his side of the bed, but usually sometime during the night they gravitate towards one another. Nasir always startles awake when Agron pulls away in the morning, dropping his customary kiss on Nasir's forehead. 

It hurts, more than Nasir expected it to, and he misses him. He misses the easy way Agron would man handle him down, hold him while his powerful hips thrusted, bringing the highest pleasure Nasir has ever known. His mouth all over Nasir, claiming him and taking him for his own. Even the easy way they fit together, pulled close with no space separating them when Nasir lays his head on Agron's chest, holds him tight. It's only happened once and yet it's something Nasir craves. 

He supposes it's all over now, their day of happiness. Eventually Nasir will begin to show, give light to the pregnancy, and Agron will just grow more distant. Nasir used to think he had beauty on his side, that Agron would give in if Nasir seduced him enough, but now he's not so sure. Perhaps it was meant to be that they never come together again. Agron clearly doesn't want it now, why would he want it when Nasir expands and blooms with their child?

The tent flap opens and closes, the night air drifting in with the thick scent of fire and cooking food. It illuminates Agron for a moment, back lighting him. He looms there, huge shoulders and thin waist, seeming to take up the whole room with just being present. He looks so good, reaching for his sword belt and unbuckling it as he moves across the room, side stepping the fire. He lays it by his side of the bed, groaning as he pulls his crown from his head and tosses it among the pillows.

Nasir peaks over the edge of the tub, just allowing his eyes out to track Agron. He can barely see him through the white gauze, so he raises his fingers from the water, swishing them to the side. It pushes the curtains away, curling them together and away. It's simple magic, something Nasir has known forever.

Agron unbuckles his chest plate next, tossing it to the floor as well before rubbing his hands along his face, stroking his beard. He spots Nasir then, smiling at him in that easy way, dimples just barely peaking through on his cheeks. 

“Hey there,” Agron murmurs, stepping off the bed platform and into the small sectioned off bath area. Nasir's eyes look so big against the pale lavender color of the lilacs, a siren tempting him with his water curled hair and wet eyelashes. Agron wonders if his skin will taste sweet like the flowers, clean and fresh from the soap, or perhaps he will still contain his spiciness, the type that makes Agron's mouth water for more. 

“You look tired,” Nasir lifts his mouth out of the water. 

“Today was shit,” Agron confesses, pulling up the stool Nasir uses to get into the tub, and sinking onto it. He leans his head against the edge, soothed by the warmth on his temple.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Nasir asks, reaching out with damp fingers to run them through Agron's hair. 

“No, it's okay,” Agron answers, leaning into the touch. It's comforting, a gentle caress, but it hurts. Agron wants to pull Nasir from his bath, wrap him up in his arms and forget about the day, but he can't. The image of Pietros' crying face, Nasir laying weak and hurt behind him, will be forever imprinted in his mind. He was the monster that caused them pain, the people he swore to protect. He cant do that ever again. 

“I'm going to go get us some food.” Agron moves to pull away, but Nasir wraps his hand his wrist, holding him back. 

“Stay for a moment. I feel like I haven't seen you in ages.” Nasir smiles gently, trying for non-committal. His cock twitches under the water, eyes tracing down the thick tendons of Agron's neck to his chest. It's the wrong time, but there is a quake deep inside Nasir that begs for Agron, needs him like air. 

Agron leans his head back down, hand brushing a wet curl from Nasir's cheek. He loves how rosey he gets in the bath, Nasir's skin slick and turning pink. His eyes look bigger without the kohl, stripped down to just him. There is nothing to hide behind. Just the two of them, loitering along a line that neither can imagine crossing. 

Nasir can not handle this, can't sit here begging Agron with his eyes to find a way. If he wants Nasir to go away, then he must say it, because this waiting is killing him. 

Sliding forward, Nasir slides his hand into the soft hairs at the back of Agron's neck. He draws closer, having to half lean out of the tub to reach the prince, allowing him the time to move away if he wants. Agron just stares at him, green eyes glittering in the candle light, mouth half parted. When Nasir presses his lips to Agron's, he breathes out, filling him with sweet air. It feels like a spell, though Nasir senses no magic. 

The kiss doesn't stay gentle for long. Agron gets a hand around Nasir's shoulders and pulls him forward, teeth dragging in a tease across Nasir's bottom lip. Agron dominates it, growling into Nasir's mouth as he pushes his tongue inside, captivated by the taste and the easy way Nasir opens up against him. 

“Nasir,” Agron snarls, pulling back with his teeth catching on Nasir's top lip. “We can't.”

“We can,” Nasir encourages, leaning back in to kiss Agron's jaw, “Please.”

“Wait,” Agron gasps when he feels Nasir drag his teeth against the junction under his ear. It breaks goosebumps over his skin, cock twitching in his subligaria.

Nasir pulls back just long enough to stare blown pupils up at Agron. Agron can see that his nipples are hard, dusty brown nubs that peak out between the strands of his hair. He reaches up and rubs across one with his thumb, teasing Nasir with the soft brush, and watches in amazement as Nasir falls back, lays against the side of the tub as he lifts his hips. 

He wishes he was a stronger man. Agron wishes he was able to turn away, refuse Nasir even if it hurt him. It is for the greater good. But, Agron isn't the strong selfless leader that Spartacus thinks he is. Nor is he the shining god that Duro pretends. He's the alpha wolf, a snarling beast first and the man falls behind, the vessel for the monster. 

“I'm no good for you,” Agron shakes his head, kisses Nasir again, before pulling back. “I'm a bad man.”

“You're my man.”

Nasir's confession brings a new wave of heat to Agron, igniting that fire that melts his self control. Leaning further into the tub, he drags his hand down Nasir's back to his ass, gripping it firmly, kneading the soft skin. Nasir is already light, but in the water, he's weightless. It takes no effort for Agron to lift him up and get his fingers right up against Nasir's hole. 

It's a complete shift as Nasir moans low and heady, legs spreading as far as they can within the tub. His cock curves along his stomach, tip peaking out from the water, glistening in the light. He's completely exposed, offering himself to Agron – his husband, his king.

“I shouldn't do this,” Agron shakes his head, even as he kicks his shoes off, “You don't know what I'm capable of.”

“I do,” Nasir murmurs, slipping back against the side of the tub again, eyeing him hungrily as Agron steps into the bath, tossing the cloth of his subligaria behind him.

“And yet you still desire me? A murderer? The monster parents tell their children about at night? I have done things that nightmares are made of. Laughed when blood was splashed on my face.”

Agron sinks into the water, spreading Nasir's legs with his hips. He gets a hand around his cock while the other slips lower, right back to teasing him. The hot steam has relaxed Nasir enough that it's easy to slip the first of his finger into him, knuckle deep and searching. 

“And I am the one they warn their sons away from. An incubus that will steal their innocence, money, and their soul?” Nasir laughs breathlessly, arching his back and moaning when Agron twists his wrist, strokes faster. “Did your father not call mine the King of Witches? Does that not make me the prince?”

“You are my prince,” Agron growls, leaning close to bite along Nasir's jaw to his neck. “Magic or not. No one else's.”

Goosebumps break out along Nasir's skin at his confession, a flutter deep in his stomach. It gets worse when Agron's hands turn a little rougher, fingers pressing in tightly. The water around him sloshes dangerously, petals spinning as Agron pushes Nasir higher up the metal side, keeping his hands going at the same brutal pace. 

Agron can feel the wolf pacing inside of him, growling more intense than he has before with Nasir. It feels like he will shift at any moment, having to keep it at bay, soothe it, and yet it still persists. It wants to be close to Nasir, not devour him like before but capture him, keeping close and protected between the wolf's powerful clutches. 

He can't keep it back, and he feels his fangs elongate, piercing below his bottom lip with a snarl. Agron tries to hide them, turn his head away from those eyes, Nasir's whiskey colored gaze, but it's too late. He sees them, and stops quivering against the side of the tub, mouth falling open. 

“Do you see now?” Agron asks, slightly slurred as he pulls his fingers from within Nasir, “I am that monster. Turn away from me.”

“Hush.” 

Raising his hands, Nasir presses his fingers to Agron's bottom lip, pulling it down so he can see his fangs. They're long, at least three inches, and gleam with spit. They are incredibly white, and when Nasir rubs his thumb across the tip of one, he feels the sharpness. Agron's eyes are glowing, just an eerie ring around the iris that spreads as he watches Nasir, holding his breath. He is expecting horror, fear, not fascination or compassion. 

Nasir smiles then, leaning up out of his watery cocoon to press a soft kiss to one the fangs, trusting Agron not to hurt him. It strikes him as odd that the person that could hurt him (and Agron really could. He's had the countless opportunities to) and yet every touch is perfected. Even when Agron is rough, it's always just enough, never too much, gauged perfectly for what Nasir needs. 

“He paces inside of me, wants to reveal himself when you are near,” Agron murmurs, sliding his hand up Nasir's cock again, stroking him, “But now, it's different. He yearns for you, wishes to curl around you like his own. What is it about you that antagonizes him so much?”

Nasir thinks of the child growing inside of him, wonders if the animal that lives within Agron knows, even if his vessel doesn't. He doesn't voice his concern. 

“But you are the same person,” Nasir gasps, head tilting onto the edge of the tub, pleasure's flames licking back up his spine, “And I fear neither.”

“That is foolish,” Agron shakes his head, leaning down to press his forehead to Nasir's. 

“Perhaps, but it is the truth.” Nasir moves his lips again to Agron's, but this time he does not do so gently. Instead, he presses his tongue boldly against one of the fangs, lapping at it obscenely before presses further inside, tasting Agron. 

It's a chain reaction, a million explosions firing off up Agron's spine, until it reaches the back of his neck, forcing a growl out of him. It's a frenzy then as Agron thrusts his fingers back deeply into Nasir's body, twisting his fist around his cock. Nasir's action was reckless, but it sets off the animalistic side of Agron, the one he toes when he's both a man and a wolf. He wants to claim this man before him, remind himself and Nasir that they are one now – united on more levels than Agron can name. 

Water sloshes onto the floor, petals scattering, and Nasir has to remind himself not to spark up, not to grow too hot in case he raises the water temperature too high. It's so hard to stay in control, clearly for both of them, when they're together. Still, a few flowers curl along the metal, vines laticing up the side. 

_Please.I need you so much_ Nasir murmurs in Agron’s mind, magic surging. 

Nasir tilts his head back when Agron drags his teeth along his neck; they're sharp enough to pierce the skin. Staring up at the tent ceiling, Nasir allows himself to relax, be man handled, be stung by Agron's hands as he drags them across his prostate, pulls more moisture from his cock. It's a fury of motion, and before he can truly comprehend it, he's reaching his peak. 

It doesn't come with a sob or a scream, but instead a wail, Nasir trying to scuttle away from Agron, nearly succeeds and falls from the tub, but Agron's body pins him, keeps him floating both in the water and bliss. He seems to shoot forever, seed slipping off of his skin in the water, but it fills the air with the thick tang of it, permeates the close space. Agron manages to catch some, licking it off Nasir's collarbones before he bobs under the water. 

When it's over, Nasir opens his legs wider, expecting Agron to slip inside of him. Instead, Agron abruptly stands, half delirious with lust as he stumbles from the tub and towards the fire. He doesn't turn back to Nasir, but instead growls deeply, keeping his hands tangled in his hair, tugging the strands ruthlessly. 

“What are you doing, my king?” Nasir asks softly, rising from his watery bed and wrapping a long robe around himself. It's emerald and drags on the floor, large bell sleeves to cover his hands. He leaves it open down the front, water making it cling to his hips and chest. 

“Please, don't,” Agron's voice breaks as he tries vehemently to slow his heartbeat. 

“You turn from me, deny yourself, but yet I have not brought you to highest pleasure.” Nasir steps from between the curtains, coming to linger behind Agron. He's hoping this isn't it, the truest form of rejection, but he can't be sure. After everything they've just said, everything Nasir has proven, this can't be the end of it. 

“I can't,” Agron turns, back lit and glowing by the fire. His cock is still fully hard, red and angry against his stomach, body glistening. 

“Why?” Nasir's body is still thrumming from his orgasm, legs weak. 

“Nasir, you nearly died. You were so weak and I was just waiting around, clueless to it.” Agron tugs at his hair some more, and it's distracting the way his body ripples from the motion but also his helpless stare. 

“I'm alright now though,” Nasir sighs, moving forward, intending to press his hands to Agron's chest but he moves, side stepping him and reaching down to grab his subligaria. 

“I do not deserve nor require your kindness.” Agron's words are bitter, voice sharp. It stings, and Nasir recoils, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Do you want us to continue like this?” He asks softly, staring down at the soft slope of Agron's ankles, “Do you think it will be better for us to pretend that we are not married? But acquaintances forced to share the same space?”

“Yes,” Agron confesses, and it suddenly hurts even worse, a slap straight to Nasir's face. The bliss from moments before is gone, replaced but the cold realization that what just happened was fueled by guilt and duty – not desire. 

Stumbling to the chest, Nasir searches blindly within it until he finds some pants, yanking them up his legs. They're black and thicker than most of his, waistband plain. He does not reach for a cloak or anything to cover the rest of him, forgetting his shoes all together as he quickly moves towards the door. Agron is still staring at the fire, but at Nasir's quick escape, he raises his head. 

“Where are you going?” He asks, not roughly but with a desperate plea. 

“Does it matter?” Nasir snaps, cursing the tears the burn vicious and cruel in his eyes. “Does any of it matter now?”

“Nasir.” Agron takes a step, hands open and by his sides, but even that's worse. Nasir would prefer vicious cruelty to that deprecating pity. 

“Goodnight, your majesty.” Nasir says it with no emotion, no feeling, and how can he when he feels like he's been gutted through? 

With one last look, he turns sharply on his heel and leaves, forcing himself not to look back. 

 

\- - -

 

Pietros pulls his pants up, using the basin in the corner to wipe the remaining seed off his stomach. His legs feel weak, an ache setting deep in his shoulders, but it's a good type. The way when your body is completely relaxed, nerves still firing off as he reaches for his necklaces, tangled at the foot of the bed. 

"I'm sorry you have to run off," Tove sighs reluctant, lounging back on his pillows. 

"It's okay. Nasir will probably be looking for me," Pietros flashes him a small grin. "My king-to-be awaits."

"He will make a good one," Tove leans up on his elbow, "I have faith in him and Agron."

"A reluctant leader is often the kindest," Pietros agrees, coming to sit on the edge of the bed to buckle his shoes. 

"And what will that make you?" Tove asks, trailing rough fingertips down Pietros' smooth side. 

"I don't know," Pietros answers honestly, leaning into the caress, "I won't abandon him. Perhaps I will be tasked with taking care of their heirs. I wouldn't mind. Nasir has wanted a child for a long time, even if it scares him."

"Agron having a little cub," Tove laughs, shaking his head, "It's a strange idea to me. I've never seen Agron even be slightly gentle until you two showed up."

"There is something there." Pietros agrees. "They just have to realize before it tears them apart, sends us away."

"I would like to keep you here," Tove wraps an arm around Pietros' waist, pulling him back into his still sweaty embrace. "You can take care of me. I would cherish you just as much."

"You know I am not for you," Pietros giggles, allowing Tove's mouth to kiss wetly on his neck, "I have other eyes on me."

"Barca," Tove rolls his eyes, growling a little. 

"He is a good man." Pietros reassures, lacing his fingers with Tove's, "Right?"

"I suppose so," Tove nods, inspecting the contrast of their skin, "If you're into the strong and silent type."

"I am." Pietros bites playfully at Tove's knuckle. "But that is not my choice to make. He has a thing with Auctus. I'm not sure of it. This whole city makes no sense to me."

"Why not?" Tove asks, retaliating by flipping Pietros over, pulling him into his lap. 

"Nasir wants Agron and Agron wants Nasir but Duro has something weird going on with Agron. Auctus wants Duro but he's with Barca but not really and Barca has made advances on me but I am here with you and you..." Pietros trails off, raising an eyebrow. 

"I want Nasir." Tove shrugs. 

"Do you?" Gaze going wide, Pietros leans back out of Tove's grasp. 

"No," Tove laughs, loud and shaking Pietros. "You forget, I have had front row seats to that show. There is no way."

"He isn't good enough for you?" Pietros instant takes offense. 

"No! No, it's not that," Tove shakes his head rapidly, "You didn't see Agron's face when I carried him into camp. You didn't hear his voice break."

At Pietros' questioning gaze, Tove continues. 

"Agron got stabbed once, right in the chest from a vampire blade, the type that eat you from the inside out. He fucking laughed. Laughed, Pietros, and continued to hack the blood sucker's head off." Tove looks up at Pietros, willing him to understand. "Nasir stumbles and Agron is ready to blow up the whole world for insulting him."

"Nasir does not see it," Pietros sadly joins their hands again, drawing them up to his mouth. "I wish he would. We all can."

"It's a young, reckless love." Tove sighs, as if that explains it all. 

Expression brightening a little, he leans up to kiss Pietros, letting his tongue gently lap at his bottom lip. Pietros melts a little in his arms, wrapping his arms around Tove's neck, allowing him to press him over and onto the bed once more. 

"No more sadness. I'm sick of talking about them. Let me make you feel better." Tove murmurs huskily, working his way down Pietros' body. 

Pietros answers in a loud moan. 

\- - -

Nasir stumbles blindly through the encampment, tears stinging his eyes. The air has gotten chiller now that the sun has long since fallen behind the trees. The wind whips through him, but it's a distant feeling to the bitter pain thrumming in his veins. He wishes he could turn it off, but the more he tries to ignore it, the more it grows until he's moving blindly, running from himself. 

He manages to make it out of the hub of the city without anyone stopping him, a few people stop to stare but Nasir doesn't linger. He just wants to escape. Finally, he manages to find a small clearing right off the beginning of the tree line, and sinks thankfully to the earth. His bare feet throb from running on them, torn in a few places where he darted over rough stones. 

Nasir doesn't have the energy to rationalize what just happened, forgive Agron for it. Maybe if he did, he could find reason in it. He could understand why it hurts so much when it's so soon. Nasir had prepared himself for disappointment, for rejection, he had almost hoped for it. Yet something about that first night, the kindness Agron had shown him – the passion – and Nasir had foolishly fallen for the idea of something more than duty and strict royalty. 

Pulling his knees to his chest, Nasir rests his forehead on them, taking deep, shuddering breaths. It's why he doesn't hear the approaching footsteps until the man looming over him speaks. 

“Nasir? What are you doing out here?” Duro kneels down, ignoring the cold dew clinging now to his skin. He's got a large boar strung over his shoulders, and the smell of it makes Nasir's stomach turn.

Raising his head, Nasir turns red, puffy eyes towards Duro, roughly wiping the side of his hand under his nose. It's not a good look on him, but for once, he doesn't care. Beauty and etiquette mean nothing. He wishes only to be left alone.

“What do you care?” Nasir's voice is scratchy, raw. 

“You are my brother's husband, and in some ways, a brother to me now as well,” Duro continues, ripping the edge of his cloak off to hand to Nasir. “You are very far from your tent.”

“Against your will and his and mine.” Nasir guardedly takes the cloth, rubbing the clean end under his eye. “If you are here to guide me out of your lands again, I would ask that I at least get shoes first.”

“No,” Duro sheepishly shakes his head, reaching up to fiddle with his nose ring, “I was wrong to ask you that in the first place.”

“Not too wrong.” Nasir mutters, rubbing at his sore eyes. He suddenly feels exhausted, burnt out. 

“Did-” Duro hesitates, almost not believing his words, “Agron certainly didn't kick you out, did he?”

“No, not technically.” Nasir blows his nose loudly, grimacing into the cloth. “But our marriage is over. You got your wish.”

“What do you mean your marriage is over?” Duro's voice is sharp, panicked. If Gerulf finds out about this, he will kill them all. 

Taking a deep breath, Nasir eases his legs out, relaxing. He's feeling nauseous again, a bubbling acid that seems to be around a lot now. How he's managed to keep it a secret is beyond him. 

“Agron would rather we enter a marriage of convenience than an actual one.” Picking at the grass around him, tossing the shredded blades to the side. “I will have the title and that is it.”

“But you guys were – everyone knew – the flowers! Nasir,” Duro gapes, shocked at how quickly his one rash decision has unraveled everything. Had he been so selfish that he hadn't seen what the fall out of this would mean for both Nasir and Agron?

“Does not mean anything now.” Nasir turns away from Duro then, wrapping his arms around himself. 

The night air is chilly, and Nasir curses himself for not thinking to grab a cloak or even shoes. He can hear Duro's breathing, but other than that they sit in uncomfortable silence, only forest noises breaking the density. He swears he hears his name at one point, shouted loud over the distant noises of the city, but then it does not happen again, and Nasir ignores it. 

“There are four years between us,” Duro suddenly speaks, voice soft and gentle, “But we were always close. Never separated. It's not hard to believe that I fell for him, really, when I was thirteen.”

Nasir does not turn towards him, but he does listen, if only for the fact he does not have the strength to get up and leave. 

“He was still sixteen and sitting outside of our tent in that dying summer light,” Duro continues, “I came home from sparring and there he was, sharpening his sword on a stone. It had always been dumb admiration, blind faith in my older brother, but he was so sure of himself then. Just coming into his body. Always cocky, running around with Spartacus and Donar. He was the prize of our people. The hope and light. I realized in that moment that we could never be parted, that I needed to have all of him. I wouldn't settle for less. Childish rational.”

Wiping bitterly at another tear, Nasir feels the reconfirmation creeping up on him. Duro was right about Agron, and now he must explain why, but Nasir doesn't want to hear it. He would rather they just give him a horse and tell him to leave. 

“I was so sure of it , but Agron always knew. He knew it wouldn't last, and I think that's why he always kept me at some distance. He kept a part of him secreted away. I knew it was there, but I never could figure it out. He would look at me sometimes and I got the feeling I wasn't – it wasn't enough.” Duro laughs, a bitter little sour sound, “Imagine my surprise when you show up and suddenly, Agron is acting like a lovesick idiot. And all of it was there, he was there completely, and it wasn't for me. It was all for you.”

“He does not love me,” Nasir croaks, shaking his head. 

“Perhaps not, but there is something about you – something that makes me realize I will never have my brother the way I want, but I'm okay with that.” Sighing, Duro reaching out and gently takes Nasir's hand, holding it loose enough that he can pull away if he wants. “But only if you stay and keep him this way.” 

It takes a lot of effort for Nasir to turn around, to look at Duro, but he does. 

“I'm okay with it because it makes him happy. You make him happy, even if he wants to deny himself that happiness out of some quest for protecting you.”

Duro waits until he had Nasir's gaze, his full attention before continuing on. It's suddenly extremely important for him to understand, for Nasir to know beyond anything that what Duro is saying is the truth. 

“I'm so sorry I put you in danger, for a reason that I knew in the back of my mind wasn't valid. I caused this. I caused him to blame himself and push you away. But I want to fix it.”

Nasir thinks about it for a moment, studying Duro's hazel and earnest gaze. He aches for this to be the truth, but he does not know what to trust. Doesn't know if he can handle the heartbreak one more time if this is all false hope. 

“There is nothing you can do now.” Nasir unconsciously lays his hand on his stomach, rubbing a gentle circle around his navel. “He's already decided.”

“I don't believe that,” Duro replies earnestly, “If he really didn't want you, the whole camp would have heard by now. Please, let me just talk to him. I can fix this.”

Nasir shakes his head, turning away again. He wonders if Agron is looking for him, but instantly squashes the idea. Of course not. He is probably happy that Nasir fled, didn't want to deal with the drama. It twists his stomach again, acid bubbling in his throat, and he groans - knowing it's going to be too late. 

Moving gracefully, Nasir manages to stand before his stomach lurches. The liquid hits the leaves next to him, foul scent flooding the area. There is only wine and acid, a mix of all Nasir has been able to keep down during the day. 

Warm fingers curl in his hair, pulling it back from his face. Duro is so very gentle when he wraps an arm around Nasir, keeping him from slumping down int the mess. He does not flinch away when Nasir continues to be sick, expelling everything he has in his stomach until all he can do is shake.

“Are you okay?” Duro murmurs, brushing strands of hair from Nasir's sweaty forehead. 

“Yes. Just acclimating to the new food.” He asks, voice soft and embarrassed. 

“If it's something else-” Duro hesitates, wondering exactly how to phrase the question, but he never gets to. Nasir cuts him off. 

“Can you lead me back to the city? I do not know the way.”

He looks pale, sweaty in the strong moonlight through the trees, but there is a strength in his gaze – a fire that Duro wonders how it never goes out. He does not think he could handle the things that Nasir has and continue on. To lose so much and gain, only to think he lost it again. He does not know what fuels him, but Duro wants to protect it. He wants Nasir to stay. 

“Of course.” Duro nods, slipping his cloak from around his own shoulders and placing them on Nasir's. 

They travel in silence, Nasir taking in slow, deep breaths to try and calm the rage in his stomach. He swears this child will be strong, already demanding his attention, all that Nasir's body can give them. In the back of his mind, Nasir hopes that it will be able to survive in this world, blessing its life even though it feels more like a burden now. 

Duro keeps his thick arm around Nasir's waist, guiding him over the loose rocks and leaves. He does not know what will await them when they arrive. He has been gone all day, hunting and wandering around the woods. Agron and him have barely been on speaking terms. His wounded face has healed but Agron does not look at him the same, guarding his words and eyes like Duro is a stranger and not the one that shares his blood. 

Most of the city is asleep when they reach the center, the large fire pit dying out in embers. There is no mistaking the man sitting before it, head placed in his hands. Agron has on his princely cloak, the large and thick one with the wolf fur collar. It spreads around his shoulders, blocking out the chill in the air. He's not wearing his crown though, hair a wild mess from what seems like running his fingers through it. 

Agron notices them instantly, raising his head from his hands. He had went out to look for Nasir, tried to track his scent, but it seemed to be blocked. Had screamed for him mentally until he swore his skull was going to burst. Had begged Spartacus to help him look, but when Spartacus had found out what happened – he turned away from Agron. Sent him to sit in the middle of the city while he looked instead. Told Agron he did not deserve to find him if he was going to treat Nasir that way. 

Duro has this earnest expression on his face, supporting Nasir, but also trying to communicate with Agron, show him the result of his irrational fear. If he can only make Agron see, then maybe they can salvage this before it's too late. 

Even from across the fire, Agron can see the red rings around Nasir's eyes, the quivering bottom lip. His pants are dirty and there are a few leaves caught in his wild hair. And yet Agron aches, deep inside of himself, to reach out and sooth that away. To ask for forgiveness he does not deserve. 

He will never be the perfect man for Nasir, never everything he deserves, but also can't cast Nasir off into the world. Agron is too selfish, wants too much. 

Raising his arm, he holds out the side of his cloak for him, an open invitation with no repercussions for refusal. It's all he can do right now. Never the man for words or long drawn out apologies. 

Nasir deflates. 

Slipping out from under Duro, he moves around the fire with sure steps, not pausing to think about what this means, what if could mean for them. Even without any of his jewelry, he glimmers in the light, magic beginning to trickle along his skin the closer he gets to Agron. And if that isn't proof who it has chosen, he doesn't know what is. 

Nasir sinks down, placing his head in Agron's open lap, curling out to lay along the log. Even with the hard packed muscles, the straining tendons, Agron is soft to Nasir, the comfort to the cold world. The cloak is large enough it works as a makeshift blanket, covering him as Agron positions it around him. He places a gentle kiss to Nasir's dark hair, fingers curling and massing his scalp. He only raises his eyes once Nasir contently settles, nodding slowly at Duro. 

It's an apology and gratitude wrapped together, and Duro returns the nod. 

\- - -

Gerulf strokes his thick fingers through his beard, untangling a snag with careful tugging. Behind him, Sedullus drags his blade down a stone, the slick slide of metal chiming out in the silent tent. The only other noise is the popping of the fire, sparks drifting up into the air. 

Across from them, the man shifts on his feet, long hair sliding over his shoulders. Impatient and brooding, he crosses his large arms over his chest, kicking lightly at the dirt under him. 

“Your majesty, you must choose.” Segovax sighs, taking half a step forward. He only wishes to have his assignment and leave. “I still suggest the boy.”

“Little man, little neck,” Sedullus agrees, sharpening his sword a little rougher. 

“I've told you. He's important, you simple fucks. He is not to be touched.” Gerulf scoffs. “It must be one of the two.”

“Agron would not make it easy,” Sedullus offers, waving his sword around, “A cornered wolf fights back.”

“That is true,” Gerulf agrees, still deep in thought, “A killer since birth.”

“The boy would not,” Segovax tries again but Gerulf cuts him a glare. 

“He has a role in this, and it is not that.”

There is a small commotion outside, hurried footsteps and laughter. Someone drunkenly starts singing, a flash of light as someone knocks into the tent. Sedullus moves to stand, but is halted as Gerulf waves his hand, ignoring the peasants as he takes another long pull of his drink. No one ever said that the role of a king is easy, but Gerulf has learned to grow his shoulders strong, so that when the world crashes down, he still stands.

“Then you must decide. My master will not wait-” Segovax begins only for Gerulf to let out a loud snarl. 

“He will wait my command like the slimy little leech that he is.” Gerulf stands slowly, large cloak fanning out around him. “And you will do as I say. I have made my choice.”

Segovax bows low. He is not a fan of this king, this ruthless leader who seems more content to fill himself full of wine and fury than tactful strategy. Still, he is a slave to his own masters whims. He must do what is needed, even if it sways him away from the pride and glory he wants desperately. 

“Duro.”

Gerulf does not hesitate as he moves towards the door, eyes staring ahead and resolve firm. 

\- - - 

"Yasmina," Crixus coos at the sleeping toddler, brushing her dark hair from her small face, kissing her cheek. "Sleep, my little love. No more crying."

"She adores you," Naevia's arms wrap around Crixus' side, smiling down at her sleeping daughter. 

"She is the image of her mother," Crixus turns to kiss Naevia's temple, "and her cries are just as fierce. I did not think she would settle tonight."

"I am sorry I took longer than expected. Agron and Nasir are fighting again, and Spartacus and I had to search for Nasir when he fled their tent." Naevia sighs, unbuckling her sword belt and bow from around her body. 

"Stupid shit," Crixus rolls his eyes, shaking his head, "Not even a full moon cycle into his marriage and he's already chasing the boy away?" 

Crixus moves across their modestly small tent, laying Yasmina in her cradle. She instantly rolls onto her side, hugging the stuffed bear carrying a tiny sword Mira sewed for her. Like this, Crixus forgets for just a moment what her destiny will be. She will grow into a warrior queen just like her mother, Crixus knows it. Can't be any prouder, more happy. She is perfect. But sleeping like this, tiny and content, Crixus hopes she stays this way - calm and safe - for as long as she can. 

"Ignore them and come to bed," Naevia collapses back on their blankets, groaning as her sore back hits the comfort of their bed. 

"They work you too hard." Crixus shakes his head, sitting beside his wife. 

"I want to protect him. He knows nothing of this land. But the constant tension between them is draining," Naevia sighs, trailing her hand down the sharp cut of muscles in Crixus' back, "Not everyone's love can come as easy as ours' but fuck, if they don't cause each other problems for no reason."

"Our love is not easy," Crixus takes Naevia' hand, kissing the back of it, "It is a task to earn the love of a woman like you."

"Not win?" Naevia asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"No. You were never to won. I am glad I earned your affection," Crixus moves to lay Naevia down, poised above her, "and given the gift that sleeps soundly nearby."

"There is no one more worthy."

Naevia moves to kiss Crixus', leaning up on her elbow, yet the moment their lips touch a cry pierces the air. Dropping his forehead onto her shoulder, Crixus groans softly. 

"It is her battle cry," Naevia laughs, slipping out from under Crixus to pick up their daughter. 

"Let's hope we are not to war soon then," Crixus grumbles. "As I am sure sound would scare away any threat."

\- - - 

Agron sits heavily down on the side of the bed, staring at the sleeping man among the furs. It's so early the birds are not yet awake, and Agron curses himself for agreeing to go out, having to fight a little to keep his eyes open. Nasir and him were up late talking, whispering to each other in the darkness, and though he is glad they have come to some agreement, he wishes he could just crawl back in bed against him and sleep for a little while. 

Nasir groans on the bed, one hand slipping out from under his blanket to press against his face and Agron's chest clenches. He is so lovely, hair curled around him, face smooth and calm unlike hours ago when he had walked into the camp. Agron still can not erase the image from his mind. Yet, Nasir offered forgiveness, even before Agron had asked. He seems to always be filling the voids, the blank spaces when Agron can't speak but wants to show his feelings some how. 

Leaning forward, Agron gently presses his lips to Nasir's temple, breathing in the scent of him. There has been too much happening, not enough time for them to settle, to explore one another, but Agron wants to change that. Wants to unravel Nasir, discover all that is inside of him, and let him do the same. He wants to try, if Nasir wants to too. 

“You wake and yet I do not feel the pull of dawn nor the sound of people outside of our tent,” Nasir murmurs, eyes still closed. 

“I promised Duro I would go hunting with him this morning,” Agron caresses his fingers down Nasir's cheek, cupping it gently. Nasir flutters his eyes open under the touch, smiling gently. 

“I am glad you have made up.” He does not say it with scorn and Agron nods. 

“He sees his faults.” 

“Can I accompany you to court today?” Leaning up on his elbow, Nasir brushes a piece of dust from Agron's simple tunic. There is no reason to wear heavy armor when they hunt. 

“If you wish it,” Agron replies, leaning closer. It's like a magnet, pulling him ever closer. 

“I do,” Nasir smiles again and something feels funny in Agron's stomach, lighter and beating. It only expands more when Nasir yawns, hiding it behind his wrist. 

“You should rest some more, little prince, and I will return to fetch you.” Agron goes in for a kiss but Nasir turns his head, skidding his lips along his cheek instead. 

“I have just woken,” Nasir's reply is light, teasing, “and still taste of sleep.”

“I do not care,” Agron lines their mouths up again, kissing him sweetly before allowing his tongue out, curling it around Nasir's. 

They kiss like this for a few minutes. Agron caresses his tongue in soft licks to the roof of Nasir's mouth, dragging his teeth in a light tease across his bottom lip. He's so warm from the blankets and from sleep, a drowsy taste that flutters Nasir's eyelashes against Agron's cheek. 

In response, Nasir opens his mouth wider, moaning quietly and fisting his fingers in Agron's short hair. He swears he could spend the whole day doing this, curling around each other, making out, and mapping each other's bodies with soft, exploring fingers. He almost feels guilty when he pulls away to pant, resting his forehead on Agron's. 

“You are a siren,” Agron breaths, using his bulk to press Nasir back, pinning him against the soft pillows. “I swear, I am completely enthralled with you.”

Nasir feels the blush warm and hot on his face, ignoring it for the sake of petting Agron's temple. “Foolish king. Your lust crowds your judgment. You must go, meet your brother and heal those wounds.”

“It is not my lust for you that makes me linger,” Agron disagrees, leaning down to nudge his nose gently along the bridge of Nasir's, “It is my inability to turn away from your beautiful face.”

“So my beauty keeps you?” Naisr raises an eyebrow, teasing challenge, “You must know that will fade.”

“No, it won't.” Smiling, Agron flashes his dimples at Nasir, soft and gentle. “You will always be the light in the darkness of the world for me.”

“If you are to leave, you must go now,” Nasir wraps his arms around Agrons' neck, “If you linger any longer, I fear I will be forced to pull you back into bed and into my arms.”

“Within your arms? I do not think I could just stare upon your face then. There are even more places upon you that deserve my full, earnest attention.” Agron smirks, trailing his fingers down Nasir's chest. 

“I am not sure I could let you leave until each was explored thoroughly.” Nasir reply is given through his eyelashes, easy seduction. 

“A fate that I will surely take you up on later.” With one last kiss to Nasir's forehead, Agron stands. “I must go though. Duro will not be pleased if I miss this.”

“I will await your return.” Nasir lifts the blankets for a moment, flashing his naked body to Agron, just a peek with a cheeky grin. Agron groans, taking half a step forward before backtracking. 

“You are cruel, so very cruel.”

Nasir's laughter follows him towards the wall where his weapons rest. He buckles everything blindly, knowing he is already late but can not regret bringing a smile to Nasir's face. Agron lingers in the doorway just long enough to watch Nasir roll over, curl into his now vacated spot. 

The morning air hits him brisk, dew rising up to soak his ankles. He hasn't been hunting in ages, and even longer with just Duro and himself. They used to do this all the time when they were boys, but duty and their father got in the way, and they had to turn their time into short breaks in court and evening meal. Agron was forced more into heir duties, studying and learning the languages of the world while Duro got more soldier training. They had fallen away from each other during the day, but at night, they used to be inseparable, which lead to the issues of now. At the end of the day though, Agron misses his brother.

Duro is lingering along the treeline when Agron reaches him, fiddling with a small dagger. He instantly sheaths it when he sees his brother, awkwardly shifting from side to side. Agron dispels the awkwardness by pulling Duro into his arms, hugging him closely. He smells a little like sweat, but there is warmth there, home. 

“Good morning.” Duro mumbles, nuzzling into Agron's shoulder. 

“It is good, but I do not know yet if it is morning.” Agron groans. “Sun has not peaked his vicious rays beyond the horizon.”

“It will be hot soon,” Duro turns towards the woods, motioning with his head, “We should get on.”

They walk in companionable silence for a while, weaving in and out of trees and across streams. Agron manages to take down a few deer, better at the spear than Duro, but Duro is stronger with the bow. They load up their horses easily, easily providing enough meat to fill the bellies of many of their people. 

It's not until the sunlight is peaking through the leaves that they finally breach conversation. Agron stops by a stream to fill his water sack and Duro pants next to him, pushing his curls off his forehead. 

"You were late this morning," Lightly teasing, Duro nudges Agron. "Did you and Nasir make up?"

"We are working on things," Agron nods, leaning on his knee as it rests on a large boulder, "He has forgiven you, surprisingly, without me even asking him to."

"I did beg for it," Duro swats at Agron before looking a little sheepish, "He worried me though, got sick in the woods." 

"Sick?" Agron raises an eyebrow.

"Threw up for a while. Said it had to do with the food," Duro shrugs, picking at a strap on his shoes. He stares out across the woods for a minute, hesitating before continuing on, "And you, do you forgive me?"

He asks it softly, unsuspecting or expecting. He can barely raise his eyes to look at Agron, the shame already so thick upon his shoulders. 

"Do you remember when we were boys and father got me that new leather chest piece? And you were so jealous that you wore out into that lake and ruined it?" Agron reminisces, nudging him a little.

"He refused to ever give me anything," Duro mutters, still pulling dirt from his clothes, "Was always about you. You're the favorite son. Even now, with your little bride."

"I am only his favorite because I am the oldest," Agron reassures, reaching out to brush his fingers through Duro's curls, "Nasir was not given to me out of love, but what he is supposed to give me. Just like that chest piece you were so jealous over, it was all for father's gain – not mine. I love you, Duro, and me being married and having Nasir isn't going to change that."

"And I love you." Duro holds Agron's hand, kissing his palm. "You eventually forgave me for the armor. But not in this."

He pulls himself closer to Agron, smoothing his fingers along the lines of Agron's bare chest. They always wear minimal armor when they hunt, makes them quicker, lighter on their feet. 

“I will forgive you for this," Agron reassures, pulling Duro into a hug, "But it will take time to trust you again. You nearly killed him, Duro. If Tove hadn't found him -" Agron takes a breath, shaking his head, “I can forgive you but it will take time.”

"And we will never have what we once had again?" Duro leans back, staring up into Agron's eyes. "Are we done? We were so good for so long."

"We are brothers," Agron kisses Duro's forehead, "Blood of my blood. But you must accept that I am not only yours now. I belong to Nasir too. You must not give yourself over to fantasy. We would never have been this serious." 

“I know,” Duro nods, holding Agron close for just one more moment before releasing him, “you must not forget that I loved you first though.”

“Never.” Agron ruffles Duro's hair, flashing him a grin, “Now, tell me what you did to poor Auctus. He came to me last night and asked to be released of charge.”

“Nothing,” Duro moves away from the stream, fiddling with the straps holding a line of rabbits against his horses flank. 

“Brother,” Agron begins to lead his own horse back towards the city, “You could do worse, a lot worse. Auctus has been after your attention for a long time.”

“He has Barca,” Duro grumbles, “He did not need to voice fleeting lust for me.”

“I do not think it is as fleeting as you assume.” Agron's tone is knowing.

“What do you mean?” Duro has to help his horse over a slick creek bed, staring up at Agron as he easily scales the other side. He does not want to tell his brother of their brief encounter between tents, nor the way Duro had used his jealousy to try and bed the bodyguard. 

“He came to me, a few years ago, to ask for your hand.” Agron says it passively, turning to look over his shoulder at his brother. “You were barely fifteen. It was an unwise decision on his part.”

“What?” Duro stops in the middle of the stream, letting the water wash over his feet. The horse nudges him with his head, but he ignores it. 

“You were a child,” Agron shrugs, standing at the top of the hill, “And this was back when father was still pushing for me to marry Naevia or Mira. I knew I wouldn't be able to give him an heir, so I thought if I kept you unwed, we still had that shot. You used to follow Saxa around all the time and try to steal kisses from her. How was I supposed to know you would prefer cock to cunt?”

“I like both, but why didn't you ever tell me?” Duro begins his climb up, growling his words out. “Wait, you didn't let me marry him because you didn't want to marry a woman?”

“Auctus is nearly ten years your senior,” Agron shakes his head, leading the way, “I wasn't about to let some man take my little brother into his bed.”

“So you took me instead,” Duro scoffs. 

“I did.” 

Agron stops for a moment, turning to study Duro's dark expression. He does not look pleased at the news, if anything, he looks furious. Agron knows he made selfish choices, but selling Duro off to Auctus when he was still so young, so soft in everything, would have destroyed him. He would not have become the warrior, the man, if he had been done away with so soon. 

A jolt of realization hits Agron suddenly. He supposes, in some ways, that he is very much like Auctus. Agron is twenty-seven, twenty-eight in spring, and yet Nasir still has the soft face of boyhood, a barely there brush of hair on his chin in the morning. Didn't he say he had just graced nineteen? A child to Agron's manhood, and yet. 

Yet, Nasir had been taking men into his bed for many years now, as early as thirteen. Surely it was not he same, not when Agron had been the one to give Duro his first kiss at sixteen. 

“It was for the best. Auctus was undeserving of you then. Now, I have a consort who can produce me heirs,” Agron murmurs, cupping Duro's rough cheek, “And you have the freedom to fuck or marry or be with whomever you choose.”

“Except for you,” Duro mutters, turning his head away. 

“Yes,” Agron pats his shoulder, “Except for me.”

They fall into silence, moving through trees and across the soft ground. It's bittersweet between them, a realization and acceptance coming to a final close. The forest is beginning to wake up, birds calling to one another, the clicking chatter of squirrels. It feels like the first dawn, the very beginning when everything is fresh and pure. 

“Do you think Nasir loves you?” Duro asks after a moment, urging his horse forward. 

“No. I do not think so,” Agron's tone is soft, a hidden pain there, “He does not trust me.”

“You should fix that. Prove to him that your marriage is valid and deserving of your rank.” 

Agron laughs in reply to Duro's words, shaking his head. 

“Oh? You now support him?”

“I support the blush upon your face when he is near,” Duro nudges Agron with his shoulder, “and the foolish way you behave to bring him joy. You act as a boy around him.”

“Happiness brings out youth,” Agron playfully tosses a handful of leaves at Duro, “and he does bring me much happiness.”

\- - - 

Long, black strands slip between Pietros' fingers, weaving a multitude of braids that twist over the band of Nasir's crown, hanging down in curls and waves. He has a small glow to him, a sheen that is noticeable. It's the beauty of the child he holds within in, growing larger every day. He is more lovely now than Pietros thinks he ever has been.

“You are deep in thought and lost to me,” Pietros murmurs in Nasir's ear, “What troubles you?”

“Nothing,” Nasir waves his hand, “Just the relentless thoughts of a future king.”

“You are not alone in this,” Pietros presses his lips to Nasir's temple, “I am here, as well as, Prince Agron. Speak thoughts.”

Nasir trails his fingers down his stomach, tracing the gold chain that leads from his neck to his hips. He eases his fingers back and forth, caressing the soft skin, mind a constantly reel of thoughts and fears. He will not be able to wear such trinkets for much longer. Nasir knows that soon he will show, soon his flat stomach will grown fuller, wider, and then the secret of it all will be ruined. With a man as big as Agron, towering above any other, Nasir has to wonder how large he will grow. Will he be known as the birther of giants?

“You wonder about your child?” Pietros asks. “About the curls you have seen and the eyes. They are beautiful.”

“A vision does not mean anything,” Nasir sighs, still stroking his stomach. 

“You know though, and yet you have not told him. He has a right to know,” Pietros finishes with Nasir's hair, moving to sit before him. 

“I can't. Not yet.” Nasir turns his gaze away, trying to hide from Pietros' piercing eyes. “He may still not desire me and I will not have him stay out of duty to our child.”

“Did you lay together last night? You were naked when I woke you this morning,” Pietros raises an eyebrow at Nasir. 

“No, we didn't -,” Nasir blushes slightly, “He...touched me.” Nasir hesitates. For some reason, he wants to protect what is budding between them, a new found understanding brought forth in light of the previous 'accidents.'

Raising one eyebrow, Pietros crosses his arms over his chest. 

“I don't know how to describe it. It was like he wanted to make sure I was whole,” Nasir shrugs, hating the way his face burns, “We didn't fuck, but just laid here, naked and caressing one another. It felt like he kissed every inch of my body, and yet the fire wasn't there. Floating instead, on a higher level. It was nice, to be touched like I was something else, something more.”

It was true. Agron had stripped them both, curling around Nasir's body on his side. At first, it had just started as a soft hand on Nasir's chest and then it had grown. They could not keep their fingers still, pressed so tightly together that nothing separated them, not even air, and Agron's hands mapped over his back, his thighs, his chest, everything. Nasir created constellations with Agron's freckles, the tan skin around his hipbones, the curve of his chest, kissed his collarbones and breathed him in. There was nothing else, not time or space or life, except for the two of them. 

“That is the exact reason you need to tell him!” Pietros exclaims, raising his arms, “He obviously adores you. He isn't going to turn you and your child away.”

“I cannot do it yet,” Nasir hisses, cradling his stomach, “I must wait. Please, just a little longer. Just until I know that this is not some smoke dream that will slip away from my fingers before I've truly grasped it.”

Pietros makes to speak again, rising slightly from his perch, only to be interrupted as the tent is thrown open. Naevia strides in, dressed in full armor, with her long hair pulled tight in braids. She is the warrior woman, face soft like her daughter's, but fierce. She has not forgiven Nasir for running off, nor will she forget either. 

“Your highness.” She greets, bowing on one knee and crossing her fist to her chest. “Pietros.”

“Naevia. Good morning.” 

Nasir stands, adjusting the thin robe around him. It's sleeveless and white, sheer as it hangs down to the floor, a match for his opaque pants, embroidered with tiny moons along the waist. The summer heat is scorching the ground, and though it will bronze Nasir's skin, it still leaves him feeling overly heated. 

“It is, yet the sun grows brighter with every moment.” Naevia smiles, hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword. “You are looking better since last I saw you, being carried back to your tent by your husband.”

“I just over exerted myself. Sleep did me well,” Nasir lies, flipping back up the blankets upon his bed. 

Naevia does not reply at first, moving slowly around the tent. It is in the silence that the party begins to hear it, the calling voice outside of the tent, the singing. At first, it is just the murmuring of the outside world, the citizens moving around. Then it grows, and a joined chorus of “Prince Nasir” is heard proclaiming over and over into the air. 

“What is that?” Nasir turns towards the opening, raising an eyebrow. 

“There are people lined up outside,” Naevia answers, turning swiftly to look at him, “They wish for you to heal them.”

“Me?” Nasir gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. 

“Word has spread of your act of healing,” Pietros steps down from the platform to gently brush Nasir's hair back from his shoulder, “You saved a woman's child. He was on the brink of death. That is beyond anything I can do.”

“I only meant to help her,” Nasir wrings his hands, looking between his two friends.

“They flock to you,” Naevia shrugs, “For guidance and deliverance. You are their consort, a prince of the people. They love you.”

“They do not know me!” Nasir laughs, moving around the cold fire pit to stand in the sunlight. The flaps of the tent do not match up completely, so it glitters across his skin. He looks the part, ethereal and pure.

“Do you want me to send them away? Tell them you do not wish to help them today and return another time?” Naevia moves towards the door, but Nasir grabs her arm, stopping her in her tracks. 

“No,” Nasir shakes his head, smile growing upon his face. “No, pull back the sides of the tent. Let the sunlight fill this place and let them come to me. They are my people, and I will one day be their king's consort. I would do all I can to help them.”

\- - - 

When Agron returns to the city, he leaves Duro at the butcher with the killing, and makes his way to his own tents. There is blood on his face, caked onto his chest, and his whole body is slick with sweat. He is a sight, moving through the onlookers who bow and scuttle out of the way. Though the sun is only half way risen into the sky, Agron is tired, sore and aches for the soft furs of his bed and the softer thighs of his husband. 

He is shocked then, when he rounds the corner and sees a line of people outside of the royal tents, nearly all of them holding flowers or baskets of sweet fruits and bread. When he draws closer, they move quickly out of his way, murmuring apologies and bowing. They seem frightened of him, and yet the flock to his home?

“Nasir?” Agron calls, ducking under the rolled up sides of the tent and into the full room. 

Nasir is perched upon a blanket on the floor, a humble setting for his status. In his arms is a small baby, cooing up at the prince and gently tugging on a long curl of Nasir's hair. Across from him sits a weeping woman, muttering quickly in the Alptra's native tongue. She is singing him praises, whispering prayers, declaring Nasir a god. 

“Agron!” Nasir looks up, grin lighting up his face, “You have returned and look worse for wear.”

“And you glow like the heavens.” Agron feels the pang of longing suddenly, staring at how adoringly the baby gazes up at Nasir. 

Noticing the stare, Nasir gently hands the child back to his mother, murmuring his blessings in broken, and slightly awkward Alptra but it's clear and a swelling of pride blossoms in Agron's chest. Nasir is learning, even if it stilted, the language of his people – finally truly accepting his role now.

“You return, reeking of the slaying, and yet you are empty handed.” Nasir stands upon his toes, kissing Agron's mouth sweetly. 

“Duro and I were very successful, and everything has been given back to the citizens for eating. I did not think you wished me to bring in half of the forest into our home.” Agron caresses his lips back up against Nasir's, nipping playfully at his bottom lip. 

“No, not the prey, but the beast is always welcome.” Nasir bites his bottom lip, coy and flirty. 

The line of people peer in on them, murmuring to one another as they watch the Beast of Alptra, the Monster of Wolves, giggle with his husband. It is a rarity to see anything other than a snarl on Agron's handsome face. Either Nasir's magic is more powerful than they assume or perhaps Agron is actually happy this time, swayed by budding love. 

“I have missed your smile. I wish to see it every day.” Agron raises a hand to cup his smooth cheek only to recoil. Nasir instantly falters, eyebrows furrowing, but Agron placates him, kissing his forehead instead. 

“I am covered in blood and you are a beacon. I wish not to soil you. Though my hands wish to curl in your hair and taste you properly.”

Nasir's next words are broken off as Pietros moves towards the pair, drawing close so as not to be over heard. He can already see where this is leading, and should probably put a stop to it. If there is anything that Pietros has learned in his time here, it is that any gossip can turn to scandal quickly. 

“Do you wish to resume the healing and blessing of the people later? You will be required in court soon, and your majesty, you must bathe.” 

Agron turns to Nasir, waiting for his judgment. He can go bathe in Duro's tents if need be, but Pietros is right, and Nasir does look a little tired. A break would do them both good. 

“Yes, Naevia tell them that we will resume tomorrow. All serious cases shall be dealt with first, and if it is an emergency, I will have time this evening. As for right now, urge them to take midday meal and find solace from this heat.” Nasir commands, voice friendly but sure. 

Another wave of pride hits Agron, delighted at how easily Nasir seems to be fitting into his role. He can see the way the peasants bow to him, stare adoringly at their little prince. 

“Pietros, can you please lower the sides?” Nasir motions with his hand at Agron, moving deeper into the tent as Naevia's voice carries to the crowd. “Come, my king. We do not have time to draw you a full bath, but I think I may have a better way to rid you of the scent of murder.”

“You are not prone to animals?” Agron teases, scratching lightly at the blood on his wrist. 

“I do not eat them,” Nasir raises an eyebrow, turning slightly, “Haven't you noticed?”

Agron thinks about it, recalling their wedding feast, and every other time they have eaten together. Nasir sticks mostly to fruit, a few pieces of bread and cheese in the mixture. Agron has never seen him though actually eat the salted meat his people are so famous for. In fact, Agron distantly remembers Nasir offering it to Naevia at one point.

“Oh.” Agron mutters, “That may present a problem later then.”

“What? Why?” Nasir is pulling back the white gauzy curtains that surround the tub. 

“Nevermind. You said you have a way to clean me?” Agron shrugs it off, determined that should the issue arise later, he can find a away around it. 

With a smile, Nasir urges Agron to stand upon the soft, mossy grass hidden behind the bathroom curtains. It's soft here, plush upon his feet, and Nasir is a little proud of his handy work. Waving a hand, he draws the air around Agron, a soft breeze that shifts and swirls, forms a gray cloud over Agron's head. In wonderment, Agron stares at it, fingers lingering on the clasps of his simple tunic. 

“Strip,” Nasir says it matter-of-factly, delighted at Agron's amazement. 

“What?” Agron asks, eyes still upturned as he fiddles with the thin leather ties on his shoulders. He has never seen a cloud this close before, and marvels as it swirls like sweet wine.

“Trust me.” Nasir takes Agron's sword belt from him, having to hold it nearly at eye level so the tip won't drag on the floor. It is a long broad sword, heavy with beaten metal and a triple balled handle.

Agron tosses his clothes and shoes to the side, still hesitantly gazing above him. It's because of this that he has the foresight to duck when suddenly the dark mass above him splits, cascading water down in thick droplets. The water isn't that warm, but enough that it doesn't sting when it falls across Agron's chest, streaking the droplets of blood there a faint pink. 

“What is this magic?” Agron asks, reaching over to take the hard soap from Nasir's hand.

“Just rain, my king, enough to do the job. We will be expected soon.” 

Nasir tilts his head, watching the water slicking down Agron's chest, droplets rolling over and getting caught in his abs. It only seems to highlight the definition in his muscles, the thick cut of his thighs and the dizzying path of soap bubbles across them. His cock, though soft, hangs long between, and Nasir suddenly has the urge to reach out and touch it, become smothered in Agron's heat, his desire, once again. 

“You stare,” Agron notices, smirking as he watches the color splash across Nasir's face. 

“I did not mean-” Nasir flounders, going to take a step back, but stops as Agron turns fully to face him. 

He looks so powerful like this, legs spread, even muscle in his body tensed as he moves his weight. Agron's expression is heated, so intense that Nasir can barely breathe. It's not fair how easily Agron can take hold of the situation, give Nasir exactly what he doesn't even realize he needs. 

Large hands slide down Agron's chest, tracing his hipbones. They linger there for a moment, a tease as his cock twitches, thickening up at Nasir's unwavering gaze. Slowly, Agron wraps one palm around it, stroking it in long strips, twisting his wrist when he gets to the tip, just enough to entice a low hiss from Nasir. 

“Why do you not take what you want, Nasir?” Agron murmurs, voice rough and deep, “I am yours.”

“But-” Nasir tries to get the words out, tries to push past the fear of rejection and the heady lust forcing his breath out in pants – but he can't. 

Agron senses it, always knows it seems, what exactly Nasir's body is doing – betraying him. He steps out from under the rain, carefully moving over the vines that litter the floor, to stop in front of Nasir. 

“I will not push you away again. If you want me, then I am yours to have, only yours.” 

Nasir does not let himself think about the words. He doesn't want to linger any longer on the edge of desperation and uncertainty. Even if the whole world burns down, even if it's the worst pain he's ever had to endure, Nasir can not do this anymore. He needs Agron, needs him like he's suffocating on it. 

Pressing his palms to Agron's wet shoulders, Nasir raises up on his toes, kissing him hard. He refuses to be gentle, moaning as Agron opens up under him, grips his waist and kisses back. Drowning in the sensation of Agron's tongue in his mouth, Nasir mews for more, wants nothing else than to fall completely into this man. Agron senses it too, holding his hips back from Nasir so as not to completely soak him, Agron nips at Nasir's bottom lip, bruising it as a reminder of what is to come later. 

“Agron,” Nasir murmurs, peppering light, wet kisses along Agron's chest. “I want more.”

“Take it.” 

Agron rubs his thumb across Nasir's bottom lip, pulling it down slightly. He looks so good like this, debauched and hungry. Agron can see the little flicker of the animal coursing through Nasir, the hidden beast that craves to be let out. 

Nasir again gives into instincts, base desire, as he falls to his knees, steadying his hands on Agron's thighs. He looks so big from down here, powerful with stomach quivering. Leaning around Agron's hand still stroking his cock, Nasir trails his tongue along the slope of Agron's balls, eyes trained up at his face. The eerie glow of Agron's electric eyes gleams back at him, a deep growl beginning in his chest. 

He takes it as permission, Nasir leaning up to lap across Agron's fingers, tease the tip of his tongue between his thick knuckles. He can taste the salt, half hidden by the wet skin, as Nasir wraps his lips around the crown, sucking in gentle little pulls, milking the precome from the tip. 

It's something they haven't done yet. Agron has been so cautious, half scared that Nasir would see it as servitude, take it the wrong way. He didn't want to remind him of men past. Moving his fingers from his own skin, Agron cups Nasir's jaw with his palm, urging him forward gently. It's only a suggestion, but Nasir does it, moaning as he takes more of Agron into his mouth. It's so wet, a tight little vice that sends licks of pleasure up Agron's spine as Nasir traces his tongue up the vein. 

This full, mouth dripping, Nasir can't focus on anything but the slide of Agron's cock getting closer and closer to his throat. He wants it all, wants to choke on it, wants Agron to fill him up, overflowing. Fingers searching, Nasir moves to grip Agron's wrist, tugging. With a sure grasp, he pulls Agron's hand into his hair, wrapping his fingers around the thick braids that twist over his crown. 

“Fuck,” Agron gasps, fingertips digging into Nasir's head as he pulls him forward. 

He's careful, measured, as he begins to move Nasir as he wants him, slipping just the tip of his cock into the even tighter inferno of Nasir's throat. The answering moan vibrates across his skin, urging Agron to press further, thrust a bit harder. Nasir takes it all, fingers turning into claws on Agron's thighs, scratching deep into the skin. 

They keep moving in tandem, Nasir's cries growing louder as Agron gets more rough, pulling him forward and up on his knees. Drool slides down the sides of Nasir's jaw, addicted to the scent and the tang of Agron's precome, wet and slipping down his neck. 

It's not vines that grow up Agron's calf, like usual, but instead flames. They are warm, but don't burn or ignite as they ripples across Nasir's body, a blaze that slips onto Agron's skin. It lights everything up, contrasting shadows with a dazzle of gold and red, illuminating Nasir's huge dark eyes gleaming up at Agron. He looks other-worldly, an incubus surrounded by fire that sputters into sharp sparks around Nasir's crown. 

“Fuck the gods,” Agron growls, feeling the dangerous press of his fangs to his bottom lip. 

The intensity of the inferno only seems to grow as Agron feels his spine beginning to fire. He's so fucking close, held captive in Nasir's eyes. The whiskey color of them reflect the light so well, swimming amber and bronze. Agron can not hold back when he's being worshiped like this. He wants to give Nasir anything he wants, would do anything for him in this moment. 

Nasir is struck dumb as he feels Agron's cock twitching at the back of his throat, throbbing hot and thick against his tongue. The first spurt fills his mouth with the taste of it, salty and sharp, clinging to his tonsils as Agron keeps coming, groaning loudly. Tiny pricks press dangerously to Nasir's scalp, the product of Agron's claws extracting, but Nasir does not fear him. He wants to see Agron lose control, priding himself on making him lose it. 

A line of spit and come connects Nasir's lip to Agron's cock when he finally falls back. His mouth is bruised crimson, dazed, as he leans back on his hands. Chest heaving, he is rendered breathless again as Agron drops down, cupping his face delicately before kissing him. 

It's a lot more gentle that Nasir expected, whimpering when Agron caresses a stray tear off his cheek bone. It swells his chest, making it hard to breathe, as his tongue traces along Nasir's bottom lip, lapping the remaining seed from his skin. 

“You, my darling little one, are a gift from the fucking heavens,” Agron pants, pulling back to rest his forehead on Nasir's. 

“You should dress,” Nasir passes it off, kissing Agron's cheek. He still does not know how to receive such compliments. 

“Do you wish for me to-” Agron can see Nasir's need pressed against the front of his white pants, a slightly darker line. 

“Later.” Nasir confirms. He raises slowly onto his feet, the scent of fire still lingering around him -cedar and smoke. 

 

\- - - 

The crowd presses thick and restless along the edges of the tent, murmuring amongst one another as the royals take their seats. Agron and Nasir are actually there before Gerulf, who has not yet exited his tent this morning. It's unlike him to be late, but they cannot proceed until the king is on his throne, and the nobles as well as the peasants grow restless. 

“Do you think perhaps we will all melt into pools of flesh and blood by the time your father graces us with his appearance?” Tove asks, leaning back over the side of the chair to mutter at Nasir and Agron. 

Agron rolls his eyes, lifting his head up slightly from where it rests against Nasir's shoulder. His face is flushed from the heat, a small bead of sweat making his way down his jaw. Nasir brushes it away, fingernails scratching through the soft hair behind his ear. 

“Drink more wine. You're a shit when you're sober,” Duro hisses, swatting at Tove's ear. He's come to stand between the two chairs, swaying back and forth. 

“Better a shit when sober than an ass all the time,” Tove retorts, dodging Duro's smack with a peal of laughter. 

“Calm yourself,” Agron sighs mildly, licking his dry lips, “He will be here.”

“We've been here for hours,” Tove whines high and needy, rolling his head against the back of his chair. 

“Hush. You are acting like a child,” Nasir chastises, voice thick and croaking. He takes another sip of his water, letting the cool liquid sooth his aching jaw and mouth. It's a pleasant feeling, encouraged by the memorizes of his actions only a few hours ago. 

“Not saying much coming from the actual child in the group,” Duro mutters, picking at his nails. He hisses in the next moment, looking up startled at the thorned vine wrapped tightly around his wrist. It's not sharp enough to break the skin, but indents it threateningly. Nasir only raises an eyebrow in response, silencing his protest. 

“You are not a child,” Agron soothes, leaning up to wetly kiss the corner of Nasir's jaw. “I have proof of that.”

Nasir giggles, nuzzling his nose against Agron's temple. Agron has been sending heated glances at him all morning, can't stop his fingers from trailing over Nasir's thighs, tracing patterns on his arms. He can see the outline of Nasir's body through his thin pants, sweat damp and clinging across his hips and ass. Agron wants to peel them off, taste all the bronze skin, pull those soft, high moans from Nasir that quake deep in his chest. 

_Do you want to have a repeat performance? Just to make sure?_ Nasir asks, sending the question silently from his mind to Agron's. 

“Fuck yes,” Agron groans, pulling Nasir back into a kiss, forgetting for a moment their audience and he could have answered silently.

“You two are gross,” Tove mutters, flicking water at them. 

Mouth occupied by Agron's, Nasir raises a hand and blindly stops the water droplets from landing on them, Hovering them in mid-air, Nasir turns them quickly to splash back upon Tove's awed face, pulling away to giggle at his squawk of protest. 

“You grow stronger with your powers, your majesty,” Naevia comes to stand before them, bowing slightly, “I wonder what has caused it.” She raises a slow eyebrow at the cuddling royals. 

“Perhaps age,” Nasir waves his hand, blush hidden by his already red face. He can feel the queezy turning of his stomach, doing so well to keep calm these last few hours. Nasir knows his power grows as his child does. In just a few short days, it will be four weeks along, a month and yet Nasir still does not have the courage to tell Agron.

“Perhaps,” She shakes her head knowingly, chalking it up to the clear affection between the men, “I came to report from your father, Agron, that he will be joining us soon, if you wish to begin.”

“He wants Agron to start court?” Tove raises his eyebrows, sharing a shocked look with Duro. 

“I am heir,” Agron mutters, hesitating before turning to Spartacus, “Should I move over or-?” He motions towards the large, imposing throne that Gerulf usually sits upon. 

“No,” Spartacus shakes his head, “Leave it open in case he arrives later. I will tell Donar and Lugo to start letting people in.”

Spartacus walks down the platform, striding across the tent, and yet it seems to take ages. Every step is like a warning bell sounding over and over in Agron's skull. He has never ran court before, and such a heavy role placed upon him unexpectedly and with an already restless crowd? Does Gerulf trust him this much or is something more at play here? His father is cunning, manipulative, and perhaps this is just a test to see Agron fail.

Agron's fingers intertwined with Nasir's begin to grow clammy, no longer hot sweat but cold as he shifts incessantly in his seat. Reaching a hand up, Nasir gently pulls Agron's face towards him, distracting him with a gentle kiss. 

“You are a good prince, and will be an even better king, Agron. Your people love you.” Nasir murmurs against Agron's lips, “Trust me.”

“You know princes now, huh?” Agron teases back, caressing his nose against Nasir's. 

“I have been with a few,” Nasir admits, “but all fall away in comparison.”

Up this close, Nasir can see all the colors that make up Agron's eyes, the long fanned out lashes, perfect cupid bowed lips. He wonders distantly if their child will look like this, be the beautiful. Will they be tall and strong, a wolf cub to be proud of, or will they be smaller, cunning like Nasir? Will Agron look at it like this – adoring and content? Nasir can feel the words on the tip of his tongue, ready to finally admit this secret, when they're interrupted as Spartacus introduces their first guest. 

He is so very tall, thin with a gray beard the curls down to his chest and tiny, black eyes. He's pale, even in the scorching sun, a long gray and red robe wrapped around his body and tied together with a gold cord. Clearly foreign as Agron's eyes narrow, sizing him up. 

It's like waking from a dream, mind cloudy as a rush of magic surges through Nasir as soon as the man begins speaking. His voice is soft, methodical, and the swirls of his crimson head wrapping makes Nasir's eyes spin, dizzy as the heat grows in the air around him. Something burns in the center of his chest, an ache that turns acidic as it moves higher. Pietros sees Nasir struggling, pressing his fingers to his lips, but when he steps forward, Nasir waves him away. 

The man is still speaking, producing a box it seems out of thin air, as he moves to kneel before Nasir. It's old, carved with ancient runes and an ouroboros. Nasir can't seem to focus on the words, turning to blink slow and drunkenly up at Agron. 

“He offers you a gift,” Agron's expression is clouded, confused at Nasir's dilated eyes. 

Before Nasir can accept or decline, the man is slowly pulling back the lid with a grin, teeth looking sharper than humanly possible. 

It all happens very quickly. The snake slides from the box, body long and gray, tongue flicking out the taste the air from a pitch black mouth. Seeming to uncurl forever, the snake is nearly as long as Agron is tall. It slithers boldly across the platform, soundlessly curling around Nasir's leg and up into his lap before raising up its body until his tongue laps a breath away from Nasir's flushed face. 

To the side, Agron raises with a shout, yanking his sword from its scabbard against the side of his chair. He points it to the man's neck with a growl, aided a moment later as Duro joins him, Tove pointing his own at the snake. It's too close to Nasir to get a true shot though, as the blade would mostly like slit Nasir's throat if he swung. 

“Wait!” Pietros cries to the side, held back from the stand off by Naevia's arm around his waist. 

Nasir stares at the snake for a moment, watching its black, blinking eyes tracking across his own face, before he slowly raises his right hand. Fingers fully extended, Nasir caresses a finger down the snake's head, not pulling away even when the snake hisses, venom dripping from his extended fangs. 

Murmuring softly, Nasir speaks to the snake in his native tongue, rolling his letters until they end in hisses. It takes a few moments, but slowly the snake begins to weave its body back and forth, mouth closing. It slides higher, nuzzling its boxy head against Nasir's jaw until it sits fully in his lap, tail curling around his stomach in a circle. 

“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” Tove murmurs to the side, sharing horrified looks with both of his cousins. 

“Nasir,” Agron starts tentatively, watching in agony as the snake pulls back to linger before Nasir's face again, flicking his tongue out to kiss Nasir's cheek. 

“It's okay,” Nasir murmurs, voice soft and soothing. “He just was caught off guard. He knows who is master is now.”

“You can talk to snakes?” Duro asks, lowering his sword, even as their guest's grin slowly begins to fade. 

“They are the messengers of our people,” Pietros explains, relaxing back into Naevia's arms as the snake curls into Nasir's lap, seeming to go to sleep. “Only the most powerful among us has that power. You have no idea what Nasir can do.”

“A gift, for his royal highness,” the man replies in a thick accent, bowing low to the ground. 

“Thank you,” Nasir murmurs, picking the sleeping snake up from his lap to gently lay it back in its box, closing the lid. He nods reassuringly to Agron, waiting until he lowers his sword to turn to Naevia, beckoning her closer. 

“Follow this man,” Nasir whispers, low enough so only she can hear, watching as he moves away, beady eyes trained to the royals in his fleeing, “That snake was not meant as a gift.”

Naevia's dark eyes widen, looking at him in disbelief. At Nasir's solemn nod, she understands, a fury coiling in her chest. Somehow, perhaps by the snake itself, a plot has been revealed, one that would surely lead to Nasir's death.

\- - - 

“You foolish fucking ass!” Gerulf roars, slamming the Mukadi down onto the table, fingers digging into his throat. “Do you know what you could have done?”

“He was meant to go for the son. I did not know,” he chokes, relentlessly trying to pull his long, gray beard from between Gerulf's fingers. “Please your majesty.”

“You handed the box to the boy!” Gerulf spits directly into the face, “It was meant for Duro. How hard is it to fucking tell them apart?”

“Your eldest, Agron, he was too close. It would have struck him as well.” The man whimpers, claw like fingers digging into Gerulf's wrist, fanged mouth oozing inky black venom. 

Gerulf slams his fist down into the man's terrified face, blood splattering up his arm. Teeth extended, Gerulf does it again and again. He does not pause until the man stops struggling, a dying gurgle as he draws his last breath. There is crimson splattered all over the table, oozing from the man's now unrecognizable face.

Leaning away from the corpse, Gerulf casually rips the edge of his robe of him, using it as a rag to clean the blood from his face and arms. It does not collect the liquid well though, smearing it across his beard and cheeks. Turning slowly, he raises an eyebrow at the gathering of men who have all watched on silently. 

“I trust you will not find it difficult to complete the task the Mukadi could not?” It is not a question, but a command. 

“No, your majesty,” Segovax bows low, his two companions following suite, “It shall be done before moon rise.”

Nodding his dismissal, Gerulf waits until they leave his private quarters before turning his attention back to his large guard. 

“Your majesty, if I may,” Sedullus begins, stepping forward with Gerulf's nod, “The snake reacted strangely to the boy.”

“What do you mean?” Gerulf asks, pushing the body off the table to sit upon the edge, pouring himself a cup of wine. 

“Not only did he speak to him, he curled around his stomach.” Sedullus smirks slowly, “I believe it sensed something that boy might not even know yet, though my sources tell me he has been very ill as of late, unable to keep the contents of his stomach.”

“You believe he is with child and keeping it from Agron?” Gerulf asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“If the prince knew, wouldn't he have announced it already? Securing Nasir indefinitely to him?” Sedullus inquires, sitting heavily down on a stool. 

Gerulf pulls his cup back from his mouth, thoughtfully studying his top guard before him. Sedullus isn't as stupid as he seems. Large, brutish, but with a sense of loyalty that Gerulf has found rare. He could be of some use. 

“Sedullus, you have an affinity for men, do you not?” Gerulf asks casually, offering the man a drink. 

“A hole is a hole,” Sedullus responds, taking the wine thankfully. “They all look the same when bent over.”

A rumble of laughter follows the comment. Gerulf smooths his fingers through his fur lined cape, humming thoughtfully to himself. There are many ways to get people to confess secrets, and if all goes according to plan this evening, then Nasir will be left open and vulnerable to speak. It all depends on how to one goes about getting the information. 

“Agron's boy is very beautiful, don't you think?” Gerulf's voice gives nothing away, speaking as simply as if he were commenting on the weather. 

“He is.” Sedullus agrees, a grin slowly pulling over his face. “A prize anyone would go after.”

“Perhaps you could persuade his secrets out of him, pleasure loosens lips, does it not?” Gerulf's grin matches Sedullus, only filled with more sharp teeth. 

“You wish for me to take him?” The tall man asks, lounging back in his seat. He would be lying if he denied his hunger towards the boy, skin always on display. 

“If Segovax does what I command and kills Duro, then Agron will go to war, and he will not stop until he has slaughtered every single one of those leeches.” Gerulf leans forward, voice dipping softly into secrecy, “Nasir will be here a very long time by himself, without his army of bodyguards and friends. There is no reason not to indulge in little pleasures along the way.”

Sedullus laughs, delighted. He has never voiced his jealousy over Agron's position, but would this not be the sweetest revenge? Having the princeling while his loving husband is away? 

“Tell me, your highness, what will happen to the boy if Agron should fall in battle?” Sedullus asks once his laughter has died down. With a casual sip of his wine, Gerulf shrugs. 

"He will need to cared for, and my bed has been empty for a long time. If Agron dies, I'll need another heir."

\- - - 

The sun has just fallen behind the trees when the royals retreat to their dining tent – a simple gauzy canopy stretched above a dozen pillows and furs. Plates heavily-laden with food are placed around them, over flowing with fruits, meats, and wine. Beyond, a few feet away, a large bonfire lights their way, giving off heat in the already sweltering summer night. 

Sprawled on his back across a long, embroidered pillow, Nasir supports Agron's head on his stomach, lazily dragging his fingers through the prince's sweaty hair. They've been sharing a stem of grapes between them, Nasir alternating between dropping one in his mouth before feeding Agron. Every once in a while, Agron will nip playfully at Nasir's fingers, licking the juice from them with a raised eyebrow, sending the smaller man into blushing giggles. 

To their side, Duro and Tove lounge in opposite directions, Pietros placed between, holding a large amphora of wine that they have been steadily sharing. Naevia disappeared a while ago to see to Crixus and their daughter, reassured that Agron will be able to protect Nasir in case of an emergency. Spartacus and Mira are curled around one another to another side, murmuring to one another, lost from the rest of the world. 

It's a nice reprieve from the day, the duties forgotten as the royals shed their crowns and titles, reduced down to young men once more. Agron can not remember a time when he has felt this sort of happiness, easily relaxing against his husband and in the company of his family. 

“So wait,” Tove murmurs, trailing his fingers down Pietros' arms, “What powers do you have if Nasir is the all powerful one?”

“Mostly growing things,” Pietros laughs, batting Tove's hand away, only for it to wrap around his wrist, pulling him closer. “I can spark a little, but not a lot. Our people only get one or two powers.”

“He makes the most beautiful flowers,” Nasir adds, turning from play holding a grape away from Agron. “Much better than mine.”

“I like your flowers,” Agron grins, leaning his head up high enough to snatch the fruit from between Nasir's fingers with a grin. 

“You like everything he does,” Tove rolls his eyes, playfully kicking his cousin's thigh. In retaliation, Agron pinches his ankle, not willing to move too far from his perch across his husband.

“Grow me something,” Duro drunkenly asks Pietros, draining another cup of wine. He has lost count of how many he has had during the day, spured on by his never ending thirst under the relentless sun.

Pietros holds his hand out, palm down, and concentrates. A moment later, a pale white flower grows down along a wooden stem. Spinning bright and lovely, the bud slowly begins to change. It curls in on itself, browning and tightening before a tiny yellow circle begins to grow, expanding and unfurling until a large shining apple spins in Pietros' hand. 

Reaching out tentatively, Duro plucks the fruit from Pietros' hand, raising it to his mouth. Teeth splitting the skin easily, Duro bites into it, pulling out a huge chunk. It fills the air with the scent of it, ripe and fresh. Juice pours down his chin, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand, moaning loudly. 

“Fuck, can I just steal you from Nasir so you can make me food all the time?” Duro asks, speaking around his half chewed fruit. 

“No way,” Tove shakes his head, pulling Pietros down so his back sprawls across Tove's thick side, “I already begged him. I get first call if he leaves Nasir.”

“I rank higher than you,” Duro spews around another bite. 

“Sorry boys,” Pietros cuts in, wrinkling his nose as Tove trails his mouth down his neck, “I gotta serve my kings. Sworn to them and their heirs.”

Nasir looks up from where he's been whispering to Agron, raising an eyebrow as he watches Tove and Pietros. Pietros has not worn his veils since they got here, refusing to give Nasir a real reason. He figures it has to do with the loss of their family. They are the worst sort of orphans, clinging to what they can of their new world. Still, it's strange to see how easily Pietros turns from kissing Tove to licking into Duro's mouth. Nasir supposes though that this is the first time they've really been able to choose who to let into their beds, so while Nasir is hopelessly devoted to Agron (a fact he is not truly willing to admit yet) Pietros is allowed to experiment – find his own pleasure.

“You look upset,” Agron murmurs, fingers reaching up to gently grip Nasir's chin, pulling his attention back. 

“No, my king, just thinking.” Nasir smiles lovingly down at Agron. 

“You will give yourself wrinkles that way,” Agron smirks, recalling a phrase his mother always used to say about his scowling expression. 

“Is that true, old man? Do you know from experience?” 

Nasir's teasing is met with a growl, Agron pulling dragging his fingers along one of Nasir's sides, digging them into his ribs. It pulls a sharp and high laugh from Nasir, who writhes and tries to scurry away from the tickling. Agron continues only until Nasir starts pinching him, catching him sharply in the chest. 

“Ow! Don't hurt the goods!” Agron rubs at the pinkening skin next to his nipple. 

“Never,” Nasir shakes his head, teasing his fingers down Agron's sternum and onto his pectoral, brushing a fingernail across his nipple. Agron hisses through his teeth, turning dark eyes up to gleam at Nasir. 

“Do not start something you do not wish to finish.” Agron warns, grabbing Nasir's hand and bringing it to his mouth. He playfully pulls one of Nasir's fingers between his teeth, biting it with just enough pressure to be a threat, not painful. 

“If I remember correctly, it was you that needs to finish something from this morning.” Nasir's smirk only lasts long enough for Agron to flip over, and then his fingers are back, turning Nasir's seduction into tickled induced giggles. 

\- - - 

“Do you think this heat will ever fucking end?” Tove groans, dumping a small cup of water over his head. The droplets slide through his short hair, clinging to his chest.

“It is barely into it's wretched heat.” Duro's answer is muffled as he sucks honey from Pietros' offered fingers. 

“You complain to much, my princes,” Pietros murmurs, voice thick as he feels Tove's wet mouth trailing along his neck. “Don't you know what this weather is good for?”

Duro looks up, watching enraptured as Pietros slides his legs open, leaning heavily back on Tove's still damp chest. His dark eyes seem to gleam in the fire light, fingers trailing over his soft, gray pants. They're not as translucent as Nasir's, but hint at what could be under them. Duro gets the sure impression that it is both an invitation and a suggestion to slide his hand between them. 

“I've always found that summer makes fucking so much better,” Pietros murmurs as Duro hovers over him, smirk melting in a grin when his large hand presses to Pietros' cock. “All that sweat and heat, can turn any man into a beast.”

“You don't know the types of beasts we are, pet,” Tove's thick accent pours into Pietros' ear, biting at the lobe. 

“You should show me.” Pietros gasps, hips involuntarily raising to rub deliciously against Duro's. The prince is poised for the attack, ready to kiss Pietros into submission, when suddenly Agron's sharp voice is cutting through his haze. 

“Cut it out,” Agron barks, yanking hard on Duro's ankle, “People are watching.”

“So? You're fucking using your husband as a god damn pillow,” Duro responds, turning to glare over at the pair. It is true, Agron is half sprawled across Nasir, head resting on Nasir's stomach and fingertips under the waistband of his pants. 

“We are married, and supposed to be concentrating on making an heir. We're allowed to fuck a lot. You two are supposed to be the example of royalty and honor.” Agron bites out, shaking his head. 

“What does it matter? They can't do anything to us. We're in charge!” Duro laughs, shaking his head as he lays his lips back onto Pietros' smooth chest. 

“I'm in charge,” Agron grumbles, pinching Duro's leg again, “and as your future king, I say stop.”

“Fuck off.”

Duro and Agron glare at each other, tension rising before Nasir caresses a hand down Agron's jaw, pulling his attention back to him. They stare at one another, and Duro gets the distinct feeling they are talking silently through their eyes, before Agron turns back to Duro – expression subdued. 

“Just cut it out.” Agron rolls his eyes, turning away from Duro to nuzzle against Nasir's navel, playfully licking the ring. 

Rolling his eyes, Duro collapses to the side, awkwardly situating himself. Pietros smiles sympathetically at him, mouthing _Later_ at him with a wink. It helps pacify him for the time being, ignoring the soft giggles coming from his brother-in-law. 

Agron has never been the type to be affectionate with people. He'll hug Duro, embrace him in random bouts of attention, but with anyone he's been romantic with – fucking really – Agron can't be fucked to care. Now though, Duro is astounded at the growling, angry man that used to be his brother looks adoringly up at his husband, both of them giggling together. Agron has this dumb look on his face, dimples out and eyes glowing, while he strokes his finger down Nasir's cheek, whispering about how Naevia's daughter has taken to calling Nasir - Prince Flowers. It's disgusting in the weirdest way. 

“I've always wondered something,” Duro murmurs. His flushed face gives away how drunk he is. “How did both of you learn to dance like that? I've seen dancers before in the cities, but none move like you do.”

“We've been dancing since we could walk,” Nasir answers, pushing himself up on his elbows and away from Agron's scorching kisses. “It is the profession of the youth in our people. The older you get, the more you learn of healing and how to market those skills once the lust for your flesh begins to wain.”

Agron readjusts on his side, pressing his head to Nasir's hip instead, kissing his navel. He hates listening to Nasir talk about his homeland, not because he doesn't want to know, but the idea of someone else just owning Nasir like that – torturing him through something that should bring him pleasure – it infuriates Agron like none other. Instead, he tries to show Nasir what a gentle touch can do, without the drive of sex behind it. He can't seem to get enough of touching Nasir, now that things seems to have settled between them, it's an addiction Agron doesn't want to break. 

“But you move your bodies like...” Duro trails off, trying to think of the words. He can still remember the writhing group of them, sliding along each other in the fire light, dark eyes and gleaming skin. It's something that sometimes haunts him, perfect for late nights when he's alone.

“Like snakes?” Pietros supplies, waving his cup around, “Like the demons that come from below the ground and snatch up the innocent?”

“Do you often snatch up innocent men?” Tove asks, flirty and light as he trails down fingers down Pietros' arm. “If so, I volunteer.”

“No men are innocent,” Pietros shakes his head, batting Tove's hand away, “All have desires that damn them.” 

“Dancing is used for many reasons other than seduction,” Nasir furthers the topic, “We dance to celebrate, to mourn, to express our emotions. There are dances for everything.”

Duro thinks it over for a minute, before shaking his head. “But it is so difficult. Your bodies move like your magic – liquid and burning.”

“Do you want to learn?” Nasir asks, biting his lip to silence his groan when Agron's stubble drags along the delicate skin directly above his waistband. Agron raises his eyes to him, smirking as he does it again. The teasing is insentient, and Nasir can barely focus on anything but Agron, the thick wine clouding his system not helping to keep a level head. He knows he probably should not have been drinking the whole day, and yet the sweet wine of this land seems to settle his always turning stomach.

“I can't move my body like that,” Duro laughs heartily, shaking his whole body, “Do I look like I have the body of a fucking dancer? No, we are raised warriors. I could kill a man faster than you could dance for him.”

“That's true, but once you kill him, it's over. When you seduce someone,” Nasir continues, fingers trailing up and down Agron's jawline in a soft caress, “You have the power. I've brought grown men down onto begging knees, promising me anything if I would just give into his lust.”

“It's true. One time, a man tried to give Nasir a whole entire estate if he would just undress before him. Not fuck. Just get naked,” Pietros pipes up, adding to the story, “We sold it for a higher price afterward. Got us through the whole winter.”

“His father never forgave him.” Nasir giggles, raising his cup in a mock toast with Pietros.

“I think I'd rather stick to the art of slitting throats,” Duro shakes his head, “It seems easier.”

“Anyone can learn to dance,” Nasir rolls his eyes. He moves to wiggle out from Agron's bulk, but the larger man stops him with a groan, wrapping his arm tighter around Nasir's waist. 

“Don't get up. You make a good pillow,” Agron mumbles, nuzzling his beard along the sensitive skin on Nasir's side. “I'll give you an entire country if you don't get up.”

“I am already your consort.” Nasir's heels drag along the blanket, “You have given me more than I could imagine.”

“I would give you more. The stars. The moon.” Agron kisses Nasir's chest after each promise. “If you do not leave me to lay among these cold, miserable pillows without you.”

“You are drunk,” Nasir's laughs, poking Agron's flushed cheek right where his dimple is.

“I want you,” Agron growls, leaning forward to nip at Nasir's bottom lip, “always under me.” 

They play wrestle, Nasir trying to slip out of his grasp only to have Agron curl his fingers tighter. Easily rolling them over, Agron pins Nasir back into the pillows, kissing him slowly into submission, ignoring the others for his husband. Curling his tongue around Nasir's, Agron sucks on the taste of him, moaning softly as Nasir relaxes against him.

In the back of his mind, Agron suddenly sees an image form, almost like a dream that lingers when waking. A large wolf perched among tall trees, sitting back on its haunches. Between its massive auburn paws, a toddler sits. Its features are blurred except for the neon green eyes, a match for the wolf's, glimmering in the dark light. Off in the distance, a shadow begins to form, a circle glowing red and fierce in the center of its chest. 

Distracted, Agron pulls back shaking his head, the image fading from him before he can really retain it. He must have drank more than he thought if he's hallucinating. Nasir stares up at him dazed, mouth bruised and grinning, but under Agron's intense stare, he sobers a little. 

“Let me up,” Nasir pats Agron's cheek. “So I can make a fool of your brother.”

When he finally manages to stand, Nasir has to straight his pants, as they have ridden dangerously low in the mock wrestling match. He can feel his magic crackling, surging a little, but Nasir chalks it up to the drink and the way Agron is looking at him. 

“Duro,” Nasir addresses, turning with a grin, “Get up. I'm going to teach you. Even a child can be taught to seduce a man. I was a master at thirteen.”

“You were fucking men at thirteen?” Tove asks, voice disbelieving. He brushes his fingers gently down Pietros' smooth cheek, “Were you?”

“I was fourteen,” Pietros nods, curling into his side, letting Tove kiss him again. “Late bloomer. Thankfully, Nasir helped me out.”

“You two-” Tove points between the two men before touching his fingertips. 

“Have we fucked?” Nasir asks bluntly, hands on his hips. 

“I shouldn't have asked that.” Tove ducks his head, embarrassed under the prince's dark stare. 

“We have,” Pietros supplies the answer with a grin, “Though, most men just like to watch us suck each other off.”

“Weird kink, right?” Nasir asks conversationally, pouring himself a cup of wine, “There was that time with the rope though. The Taurus people are so weird about shit like that.”

“Taurus people? You were fucked by bull people?” Tove asks, confounded. “Fucking minotaurs?”

“More like we were asked to tie them up,” Pietros huffs, “and possibly ride them like animals.” He squints his eyes at Nasir, watching his best friend break out into giggles. They had been barely been able to keep a straight face as they rode the two men, trying and failing to not make cowhand jokes.

Agron shifts uncomfortably next to where Nasir stands, reaching out to trail warm and thick fingers along his ankle. He hates every moment of this conversation, the idea that Nasir has never found completion or pleasure from these acts. That he has been used as a toy this whole time. It makes Agron want to pull Nasir down again, smother him in easy affection, wet kisses that make Nasir feel cherished, adored, as he should be. 

“So you were fucking pretty much from the time of manhood?” Duro shakes his head. He can't imagine that. Nasir is already so tiny, but at thirteen? When ones body is just discovering the pleasure found between your thighs? And Nasir was already seducing men to their knees? Agron had no hope of escape if Nasir's true power is that.

“They were fucking me, mostly. I always offered. Pietros bruises so easy,” Nasir shrugs, crouching to pull a fig to his lips, “but yes. Now, Duro, on your feet.”

He moves to linger between the edge of the canopy and the roaring fire behind him, stretching his arms above his head in a long arch. Agron watches him with calculating eyes, considering his words. He can't even imagine the life that Nasir has lead in his short years, the horror and pain he has had to endure. And yet he's flippant about it, not seeming to care at all that he has more worth than that. Agron wants Nasir to know that, to know how much he wants to give him, save him from that life and show Nasir the beauty he has simply in being himself. 

Duro stumbles to his feet, drunkenly giggling as he drains his cup, giving a loud growl afterwards. He presses a crimson, lingering kiss to Pietros' mouth for luck, before moving over to his brother-in-law. 

“Okay,”Nasir raises his arms out to the side, rolling his wrists up in small circles, “Move your hips to the right and then to the left, kind of dip them as you go.”

He demonstrates slowly, first towards the right and then the left, stomach contorting in tight figure eights. Nasir makes it looks so easy, spinning in a slow circle with a grin just to show off. Duro tries to imitate him, but mostly ends up sway side to side, awkwardly craning his neck to watch Nasir. It's not fair the way he moves, speeding up as he rolls his body, arching his back. It's effortless.

“This should not be so hard,” Duro mutters, yanking his sword belt off to free up the weight on his hips. “Why is this so hard?”

“It's not. You're thinking too much. It's like riding a guy,” Pietros calls out, dissolving into a laughter when Duro stops, looking startled. 

“You've ridden a cock before, haven't you, Duro?” Tove teases, arm looking huge around Pietros' shoulders. “I've heard some rumors.”

“Yeah, Duro.” Agron grins, lounging with wide spread legs, back into the pillows. “Show me how you ride.”

Nasir purses his lips at Agron, shaking his head before drawing Duro's attention back to him. There is a an adorable pinkness to Duro's cheek that has nothing to do with the wine. He looks flustered as Nasir pulls Duro closer, slotting their thighs together until their hips bump. 

Up close like this, Nasir can see how much Duro looks like Agron, slightly smaller but with the same eye shape, same nose. He wonders for a moment how things would have been different had he been given to Duro instead, but with one glance over his shoulder at his gloating husband, Nasir knows it would have never worked. He was smitten from the very moment Agron turned his emerald gaze on him.

“Just move against me,” Nasir murmurs, hands sliding to Duro's lower back. “It's just like fucking. You have to give your partner a peek at what is to come, entice them.”

He begins slowly, rolling his body forward to a silent beat, guiding Duro's hands up to his waist. It's stilted at first, Duro only bending his knees a little. He's still embarrassed, isn't sure how to react, but then Nasir presses harder, windes his hips up against Duro's with a lascivious smirk, and like that Duro moves. The grinding is slow, pointed as Duro's fingers turn tighter, fisting in the back of Nasir's waistband. He guides Nasir up on his toes, gasping breath across his face from how close they are. 

“Is this how you ride my brother's cock?” Duro asks, clearly fueled by the wine. There is still a green tint to Duro's feelings for Nasir, a bitterness that lingers when Agron looks at Nasir like that. 

“Maybe. Is this how you rode my husband?” Nasir raises an eyebrow, smirk knowing. Duro flounders for a minute, mouth falling open. He had no idea that Nasir knew about that. “Is that what this whole thing was about?”

“I-” Duro starts, blanching as Nasir tilts his head slightly. 

“Or do you now turn your affections to further down the bloodline? Tove does look excruciatingly similar to Agron sometimes.” Nasir teases, breath hot on Duro's face. 

“You speak boldly for such a little man,” Duro growls, hand sliding up Nasir's side to fist in the back of his hair. “Did Agron tell you of what we used to do together?”

“No, you did.” Nasir hisses, back arched sharply as he grinds his hips against Duro's, “The way you stare at him, beg with your eyes and your body. Everyone else falls away when Agron is around, and you damn yourself for it.”

“What?” Duro's eyes begin to glow a mirky gold, fingers no longer a sure thing in Nasir's hair but a vice, tugging it sharply. 

“Auctus is in love with you. Painfully, undeniably, and yet you would ruin your lineage and my marriage to be with someone that will never allow himself to be with you?” Nasir asks, sudden teasing gone as he stares up at Duro with wide, honest eyes. “Why are you hurting yourself and us when you could be happy? You deserve happiness, Duro. Let Agron and I carry the weight your father wishes and allow yourself the freedom to be the man you want to be.”

“You make it sound much easier than it is,” Duro mutters, shaking his head. Their hips are still moving, sweat slicking down Nasir's back when Duro releases his hair, smooths fingers down his shoulders. 

“We are family, Duro,” Nasir cups Duro's face, smiling up at him, “I would bear the wrath of your father, his hatred, his need to have me become your brother's whore, if it made both you and Agron happy.”

“You sacrifice too much. You don't even know me.” Duro shakes his head, marveling at the little sorcerer before him. 

“I would like to.” Nasir's smile is dazzling, eyes seeming to shine like millions of tiny lights as the fire reflects in them. Duro moves to kiss Nasir's forehead, blanching as he pulls away and Agron suddenly looms behind them. He wishes that the ground would open and swallow him, watching that familiar and dangerous glint in Agron's eye turn towards Nasir instead of him. 

“Mind if I cut in?” Agron asks, trailing his fingers down Nasir's side. Nasir stares at Duro in response, not challenging, but questioning. He doesn't want things to be like this between them anymore. They will soon be even more of a family when the baby comes, and Nasir doesn't want the bad blood.

“Oh my god! Are you two going to finally do your wedding dance?” Pietros calls from the tent, clapping excitedly. 

“Wedding dance?” Agron turns his head to stare at the man, ignoring how prone he is laid to the side of Tove, one of his cousin's hands between Pietros' legs. 

“You were too busy at your reception to do it properly,” Mira chimes in, finally contributing the conversation as she leans back from whispering to Spartacus. 

Nasir blushes, leaning his back against Agron's chest, using it to his advantage to avoid the prince's expression. He hadn't mentioned it, didn't think it really mattered. It was kind of a dumb tradition when Nasir thought about it. A first dance to tie the two together? The whole concept was that they would end up tangled in ribbons afterwards, a sign of their commitment. Usually though, it led to both parties tied up and falling to their rooms after.

“We were supposed to dance?” Agron tilts Nasir's chin up, but Nasir adverts his eyes. 

“It's nothing.”

“Did you want to dance? Why didn't you say anything?” Agron caresses the cut of Nasir's chin with his thumb, stooping to make Nasir look at him. 

“I didn't know you.” Nasir mumbles, awkwardly scratching his nose. “We were fighting. It's kind of a complicated dance. It isn't wasn't my place to ask a prince for anything.”

“But, we're married. You knew you were my equal, Spartacus even said so.” Agron's fingers slip from Nasir's skin, confusion making him recoil. 

“But we fought and you were so mad and I didn't know,” Nasir babbles, “how you were going to react.”

Nasir stares up at him with giant eyes, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He didn't want this to make Agron upset or angry again. He honestly never thought to bring it up. Why would a prince, a wolf king, want to do some stupid dance with his little witch husband? Nasir knows that is what Gerulf calls him in his language. Naevia told him so. 

“Nasir, are you-” Agron hesitates, glancing up at Duro before lowering his voice, “Are you afraid of me?”

“I was,” Nasir admits, cursing his wine loose mouth, “I was, but I don't think you'd hurt me now. Not intentionally.”

Agron can not erase nor hide the sudden fleeting pain that darkens his expression. He knew it was true, even before Nasir admitted it, and yet after everything – Nasir has no reason to change his mind. He had hurt him, his family had hurt him, and when Agron was supposed to be protecting Nasir, he had let him get hurt.

“That settles it then.” 

Agron takes Nasir's hand in his own, pulling him back from Duro and turning him. Nasir looks hesitant, but moves with him, fingers warm against Agron's. Pressing a light kiss to the top of Nasir's head, he raises their arms higher, spinning Nasir in a slow circle. 

“We're starting over. I want to make this right,” Agron wraps an arm around Nasir's waist, using their still joined hands as a guide as he sways back and forth. “Starting with our wedding dance.”

“You are ridiculous,” Nasir shakes his head, rolling his eyes, “You have nothing to make up to me.”

“I do, and you know I do.” 

Agron leans down to gently kiss Nasir's flushed mouth, trapping his bottom lip between Agron's own. He sucks on it, pulling the flesh with his teeth, and Nasir gasps, body arching towards him. It's catch and release, cause and effect, everything that one does the other responds to.

Behind them, Pietros laughs merrily, scampering away from Tove to wrap his arms around Duro. He presses a wet kiss to the side of the taller man's neck, tall enough not to struggle like Nasir would, before wrapping his arms around Duro's shoulders. Up close like this, Pietros is eye level with the prince, bare feet flattening the grass under his heel. They move in a half attempt at dancing, Duro play dipping Pietros every few minutes, spinning him around. It's light, child-like, and a relief from all the stress that seems to be terrorizing the young royals. 

Somewhere to the left actual music begins to play, and the couples continue, illuminated by the crackling fire. Agron leans his forehead down onto Nasir's, staring at him in the light. Nasir's smooth cheeks and his long eyelashes, Agron kisses both, holding Nasir's neck between his hands. He doesn't think he ever wants to lose this moment, even if it can only linger as a memory. The way Nasir is staring at him, opening up under him – innocent affection. 

“How is it that you were my first kiss and yet I only want you to kiss me?” Nasir whispers, nuzzling the tip of his nose against Agron's. 

“I don't know,” Agron answers honestly, kissing Nasir for measure, “but I want you to keep feeling that way.”

“I will.”

Nasir presses his head to the center of Agron's chest, nuzzling into him, and Agron easily rests his chin on his hair, keeping him close. And maybe all the teasing, all the sexual tension, is wonderful and addictive for them, but these moments - the ones where Nasir can feel every inch of his magic bleeding into Agron and Agron can feel his wolf begging for Agron to not move, not ever let go - these moments are perfect, are blessed.

\- - - 

Beyond Pietros and Duro, both still spinning and laughing loudly, a group linger along the edges of the fire, watching the group. It's too hot outside for them to be so close to the flame, and yet they crowd together, exchanging murmured words that even with his powers, Agron can't hear. 

“We have clear aim now, Segovax. We must act quickly.” To the side, Leo murmurs, watching with narrowed eyes as Agron continues to kiss his husband, holding him tightly against his chest. They make an odd pair, one completely dripping in gold and the other caging a beast inside of his chest. 

“Wait, patience.” Segovax mutters, crimson eyes roving over where Duro has spun Pietros again, tipping him back towards the earth before dragging him up. They're moving at a completely different pace than the other couple, frenzied and ungraceful. 

“I am sick of watching dogs play,” Gaiane hisses, brushing her curling hair from her face, “I want to feed. That little one, he smells sweet enough.”

“No. Just the smaller giant,” Segovax grips her hand tightly, a threat, “No one else is to be touched.”

“Segovax,” she whines, ripping her hand from his grasp. “I want to play.”

Turning back, Segovax studies the royals for a moment. Other than the subdued giant, they look harmless. The little prince, Nasir, is up on his toes, grinning as his husband spins him again to draw him close. They are lost to the dangers lurking so near. The other two are a fumbling mess of drunkenness, but it gives Segovax just a moment of pause. He allows them just a few breaths of undeluted, pure happiness, before he gives his nod. They must act. 

\- - - 

“You are better at this than I expected,” Nasir teases, wrists warm against the sides of Agron's neck. “I didn't see you as a dancer.”

“I can be graceful when I want to be.” Agron playfully nips at the tip of Nasir's nose. “I, unlike my brother, actually know what my hips are for.”

“Oh, I know,” Nasir giggles, hands sliding down to Agron's massive chest, “I vividly remember.”

“A performance I am sure to reenact for you very soon.” Agron growls, biting at Nasir's earlobe. 

Nasir's gasp is sweet, breathy against the side of Agron's face as his fingernails dig into Agron's bare skin. He could get very used to the painful pleasure that Agron gives him, brings him to the edge and never lets him fall over alone, always there to make sure Nasir is taken care of, cherished. 

Grinning, Agron looks over the top of Nasir's head for a moment, just to check his surroundings. He's very tempted to pull the little prince into the woods and have his way with him, knowing if anyone happened upon them nothing would be said about it. He was truthful earlier when he said they were just married and had the right to fuck a lot. Agron is set on that course of action when he suddenly notices a strange looking group huddled by the large fire pit. 

He could ignore them, go back to focusing on Nasir's breath on his collarbones, his tiny body pressing close, even the images that every once in a while flash in his mind – always a wolf with the glowing shadow growing brighter and brighter. Agron wishes he could, but then one of the men turns, just a slight shifting and through the smoke, Agron gets a straight view of his face – eyes glowing unnaturally red. 

Paralyzed, half by confusion and half by drunkenness, Agron squints to see if maybe it was a trick of the light – there is no fucking way _those_ people are here. no fucking way. - but then they are moving, seeming to have noticed Agron's intense stare. There are three of them, the one in the front taking the charge, long hair in loose wave around him while his two cohorts are plain. The woman has a massive amount of black curling hair and the man's shoulders compete with Agron's. Gaining ground quickly, their long black cloaks fanning out behind them, too thick for the humid air, but vampires can't feel human sensations, too separated from the world. 

“Agron? What is it?” Nasir leans back, feeling the way Agron's body tenses, every muscle tightening as he stares above his head. Agron doesn't respond except for the rumbling in his chest, lip curling around his sharp snarl.

Hearing the warning, the vampires do not walk for long, gaining momentum with every step, mouths opening as their long fangs descend, hissing. They fan out, charging right towards the group now, the one in the front pulling a long blade from his belt, the metal glinting in the fire. He doesn't stay on the straight path though as they near the royals, instead veering to the right, heading behind Nasir. 

It all happens so fast. Too fucking fast. 

“Duro!” Agron bellows, roughly pushing Nasir to the side as the knife comes down. He can distantly hear Nasir's cry, thumping as he is easily tossed to the ground. 

Startled, Duro pulls Pietros back to his chest, wide eyes swimming into focus over the top of the shorter man's curly hair. He's never heard Agron's voice take that tone, and the panic paralyzes him. It's not the voice of his brother, but the voice of his alpha, the wolf in Duro panicking. 

Agron doesn't think. Can't fucking breathe. Not Duro. Not here. Not now.

The three vampires descend, fangs out and weapons, and Agron has to react, instincts over powering rational thought. It doesn't matter that Nasir has never seen him fully transform or that he can hear Spartacus yelling at him. All Agron can focus on is that blade sliding through the air and Duro is still watching him, mouth falling open in a silent scream for his brother. 

Agron's mouth extends, fangs bursting forth from his gums. Ignoring the pain as his bones pop and dislocate, Agron hears fabric ripping, leather breaking apart as Agron grows larger. Fur slides down the back of his neck, extending along his spine, hips snapping him forward onto all fours. Then his paws are hitting the dry grass, jumping across the short gap of space from where he once stood and where Duro is with an vicious roar. 

“Agron!” Nasir's scream follows, shattering the still air. Where Agron once was, now stands a massive wolf, shoulders wider than two sets of Nasir's and taller. Copper hair, bright and glinting, covers the wolf, jaw open in a deadly snarl, drool falling from his curled back teeth. 

Spartacus is right there, running after his prince, sword drawn. Fear courses in his veins, teeth elongating his mouth while golden hair sprouts down the back of his head. He won't completely shift into his lion form, but it's right there, threatening. 

The flesh parts easily between Agron's teeth, blood gushing down his jowls, staining his auburn fur a deeper crimson. It's pure blood lust, the tangy copper scent intoxicating to the wolf as Agron snarls, hackles on his back trembling. The vampire screams, hissing as he claws at Agron's massive shoulders, trying to dislodge his throat from between Agron's sharp teeth. There is no hope though as with one powerful yank, Agron rips it open, tendons and veils hanging from between his lips. 

As the vampire falls, Spartacus swings, powerful blow that knocks the vampire's head flying off towards the fire, Agron howling his approval. When it hits the flames, the air fills with the foulest scent, curling hair and flesh and vampire venom – turning the air into a thick, smokey haze. 

“Nasir. It's okay.” 

Mira helps pull Nasir to his feet, keeping a hand around his shoulders to keep him back. The tangy scent of blood adds to the already smoking sky, and Nasir hears Agron's faint but there whimper as the new vampire gets her fangs into his shoulder. Mira tries to control Nasir, drag him back to the safety of the tent, but it's to no avail as a surge of magic bursts from inside of Nasir. Vicious black tendrals shove into Mira's chest, flinging her through the air towards the tent, life only saved as Tove jumps, grabbing her from crashing to the ground. 

Turning, Agron only has a moment to look up before the second vampire is coming at him, this one with sharp nails extended. It catches him across the face, sending Agron toppling over onto his side from the blow. He doesn't stay down long, rolling to his feet with another howl, massive shoulders heaving. Spartacus tries to hack at the creature, but he moves faster than he can, Spartacus missing him by an inch at most.

They collide again, teeth and claws. The vamp gets her fingernails under Agron's ribs, trying to dig in deeper, but Agron manages to clamp down on her arm, yanking and yanking until he feels the skin beginning to pull. Skin is so soft under Agron's powerful jaws, splitting like thin paper as shakes his head back and forth. His opponent is distracted by trying to keep her limbs connected that she never sees Agron's paw, swiping powerful and direct into the side of her head. The blow doesn't knock the vampire's head off, but it snaps her neck, making it much easier for Agron's teeth to dislodge it after by tugging on her hair. 

Spartacus pants next to him, nodding solemnly, only to startle as another sound fills the air. A scream, blood curdling and anguished, followed by the hissed vampire language. Turning sharply, both Agron and Spartacus aim to find the third and last attacker, when he suddenly freezes, glowing wolf eyes going wide. 

Suspended above the ground, the last vampire writhes in mid-air, engulfed in indigo flames. He's not dead yet, screaming and begging at the top of his lungs, but there is no relief. It's not the vampire's torture that gives Agron pause – it's Nasir. 

He's standing where Agron left him, but Agron does not recognize him – that is not his husband, not his blushing, flower-growing little prince. Hair flying around his face and eyes completely black, Nasir pulses magic, thick and tangy in the air – like the air before a storm. His dark eyes reflect the fire as he keeps both of his hands up, stream after stream of flames bursting from his palms, scorching the grass under his feet to charred black. And it occurs to Agron as he watches a thorned branch curl around the vampire's body, tightening until blood pours, that Nasir is keeping the creature alive. He would be dead by now from the fire if weren't for Nasir flowing life through him. He wants the vampire to feel it, to suffer. 

Sprawled together on the ground, Duro and Pietros cling to one another, watching with horror stricken faces. Tove lingers behind, pressing a hand to his mouth, eyes huge and glowing. The awe he once felt for the Pythonissam is replaced by horror.

 _Nasir_ Agron murmurs through his mind, feeling the heat of the flames in his own head, singed by Nasir's rampant magic. _Baby_

Nasir doesn't twitch, if anything, another burst of flames slams out of his hands into his captive. Around the edges of their group, people are drawing together in a crowd, gasps and screams filling the air. The peasants cling to one another, a woman dropping to her knees, praying loudly. 

_Nasir_ Agron tries again, willing cool magic into Nasir's body, and when it doesn't work, he begins cautious steps towards his husband. 

He blindly passes Duro and Pietros, ignoring Duro's hissed begging for him to stop. He moves to reach out for Agron's side, but the older side steps him, intent on drawing close to his husband. Next to Tove, Mira lingers still in the tent. She has her bow cocked, but it isn't pointed at the vampire – instead the tip of the arrow trembles as it locks onto Nasir. Agron gives her a deep growl when he sees, and she does lower it, if a bit hesitantly. 

When he gets close enough, Agron slowly shifts back into his human form, grimacing through the transformation. It can be painful, the popping and expanding of his bones, the reforming of his skin, but Agron doesn't focus on it. He doesn't even care that he's standing naked before a large group of his people. All that matters is Nasir and the surging of magic that thickens the air. 

Stepping behind him, Agron doesn't wait, doesn't think caution really counts in this situation. Nasir's tattoo, the triangle and swirls on his lower back, has expanded up his spine, inching black ink that whips back and forth, growing into thick angles and swirls on his shoulders. Everything around him is choking acidic magic, filling the air, but Agron doesn't recoil. Instead, he wraps his arms tightly around Nasir's waist, hands lacing over his stomach, curling his chest tightly to the smaller man's back as he presses his lips against Nasir's ear. 

“Baby, it's okay. Come back to me.” He murmurs, willing for any of their connection to work, for maybe some of his own magic to flow into Nasir. “I'm okay. We're safe.”

It stops as soon as it starts it seems, Nasir's fire breaks with a gasp, and he slumps forward. The screaming vampire silenced as he falls to the ground, breaking into dust as he hits the blackened grass. The crowd stares in horror as Nasir crumples down, knees buckling as his skin returns to the normal, bronzey glow they are used to, eyes closing. Agron's arms around Nasir keeps him on his feet, holding him tightly above the smoking ground.

“You are safe, my little prince, we are.” Agron cooes into Nasir's ear, kissing the skin gently, “Nothing is going to hurt you.”

Inside of Agron's mind, the same image from before forms, only this time, the creature hovering behind the wolf and child begins to take shape. His face is still blurry, but around his head is a flamed crown, a crescent moon suspended above the lick of crimson. Turning his head, the wolf howls and the baby joins in, tiny, high pitched next to the bellowing tawny wolf above him. The glowing red orb in his chest fizzles before bleeding out it's color, a surge of white light erasing the image completely. Underneath Agron's hand on Nasir's stomach, a warmth grows against his palm. 

Eyes fluttering, Nasir turns his head to look at Agron, dazed but present. No words as they stare at one another, something else sizzling between them. There is blood splattered across Agron's mouth, dripping down his neck and onto his chest, teeth crimson. Agron looks every part the monster he hoped Nasir would never have to see. Yet, it doesn't stop Nasir from reaching up to lace his fingers behind Agron's neck, pulling him down for a heated kiss, lapping into Agron's mouth. He sucks the blood off his tongue, nails turning sharp on the back of Agron's neck.

Nasir had never thought to be afraid of Agron when he turned, never turned thoughts to his own safety. All that mattered was Agron, was losing him like this, and Nasir could not handle it. Still, he had never lost control of his powers before, not to this extent. He won't allow himself to focus on it though, instead filling his minds with the bitter taste of blood in his mouth and Agron's probing tongue. 

“Agron, we need to go. It's not safe.” Spartacus looms next to them suddenly, holding out blanket of thin cloth for Agron to cover himself with. He doesn't looks frightened of the pair, but there is a hesitancy to draw close to them. 

Agron pulls back from Nasir with a loud slurp, eyes traveling down the blood now smeared onto Nasir's chin. And there it is, that tiny beast that Agron had seen crawling inside of Nasir, begging to be let out. There is a killer inside of Nasir, a warrior begging to be released. 

“Where is my father?” Agron asks, wrapping the cloth around his waist. “We must check on him.” He looks up just in time to see Auctus, Crixus, and Naevia running into the clearing, both with swords pulled.

“What the fuck is going on?” Crixus bellows, looking between the two princes, both smeared with blood. 

“Vampires,” Agron answers, lacing his fingers tightly through Nasir's, “Assassins. They came out of no where, but knowing them-”

“More are to come.” Crixus finishes for him, grimacing. 

“Nasir,” Naevia flutters forward with a hand extended, fearing the worst the sight of the blood, but the prince shakes his head. 

“Don't. I'm still burning with magic. I don't know how I'll react.” Nasir cowers against Agron's side. He'll let the fear of what he did wash over him later, the horror, but right now, there is no time. They must move, regroup and formulate a plan. 

“What the fuck were vampires doing here?” Auctus asks, knuckles white on the hilt of his sword, gaze roving over to where Duro still cowers on the ground. 

“I don't know, but we need to move.” Spartacus wraps a hand around Agron's shoulder, tugging him and in part Nasir, towards the tent. “The peasants are terrified and who is to say the rest of the vampires are not lingering nearby? I will deploy someone to go check on Gerulf on the way.”

The group moves quickly forward, Agron bending down to pull his sword out of the tatters of his armor – nothing to be saved. Nasir aids him, crouching and flipping over the the split belt to find pull Agron's leather corded necklace from the pile, wolf paw charm still intact. He raises up on his toes to slip it over Agron's head, kissing his shoulder when it falls into place. And isn't that so Nasir? Even in panic, in turmoil, he thinks of the smallest thing that bring joy.

To the side, Duro and Pietros are still cowered on the ground, but instead of silent fear, Pietros is crying hysterically. Duro keeps his arms around him, but looks worriedly up at Nasir as the group approaches, floundering when Pietros suddenly falls forward.

“Letodeus,” Pietros' cries, pressing his forehead to the soft grass before him, “Letodeus! Misericordia!”

“Pietros,” Nasir gasps, stepping forward only for Pietros' voice to raise higher, wailing now.

“What is he saying?” Spartacus asks, turning to look at Nasir's stricken face. He looks more horrified by his friends words than the blood smearing down his husband's face and chest.

“Ne occidas, ne me. Pro quo obsecro. Misericordia!” Pietros sobs, shaking hard enough his words are spoken through a slurred mouth.

“He's calling me Letodeus - our darkest and most vicious god. He brings the sun onto the earth and burns us all alive in the end,” Nasir murmurs faintly, curling his body against Agron's side, “Pietros is begging for mercy from me.”

Pietros says something else, words sharp as he looks up at Nasir, trembling. Nasir answers him back, voice cracking and Pietros recoils, shaking his head. He looks even more shocked when Nasir drops to his knees, reaches for Pietros and the other man scurries back, hiding behind Tove and Duro. He refuses to answer Nasir's cries of his name after. 

“What is it?” Agron helps Nasir back to his feet, holding him tightly. 

“He does not think I am who I say I am,” Nasir whimpers, wiping a stray tear from his face, “He keeps asking me where Nasir is.”

“Agron,” Spartacus starts warningly, “We do not have time for this. We need to go.”

Agron looks from Nasir's sorrowed face to Pietros whose nails are digging into Tove's chest as he grips him from behind to the rest of his guards - his family and friends. Spartacus is right. They will deal with everything else later, right now, their main priority is to get out from the open and to safety. 

“Tove, take Pietros back to his tent, now.” Agron commands, voice dipping deeply into the tone he uses only for princely business. “Auctus, get Duro. Do not leave nor answer to anyone but Spartacus or me. No one.”

Wrapping his hand tightly through the hilt of his sword, Agron draws the blade from the sheath, holding it in his right hand as the left takes Nasir's, yanking him forward and towards their own home, followed closely by Spartacus, Mira, Naevia, and Crixus. 

\- - - 

Tove sighs, leaning back in his plush chair, looking around his cousin's rooms. He left Pietros sleeping in his tent nearby, watched over by a concerned and pensive looking Barca. Tove wished he had missed the way Pietros' eyes had calmed when he took in the darker man, reaching out with needy hands to be picked up by Barca and held. It fills Tove not with bitterness, but sadness for the boy – still searching for the kind of love and care that Nasir has found. 

Looking around, Tove takes in the royal chambers. He hasn't been inside Agron's tent in a long time, Agron is a fairly private person, but now, Tove can see Nasir everywhere in it. The bed is sectioned off by soft looking curtains, a mixture of red, gold, and copper. Tove can see the giant tub in the corner, half enclosed by white sheers and glistening in the fire light. Flowers and vines crisscross over the ceiling, filling the air with the thick scent of jasmine and something else – something more intimate. Pillows and thick blankets lay around the floor, half covering the soft and lush grass that has replaced the beaten dirt from before. It feels like life is here, blooming in the close space.

Leaning back on a pillow covered log, Agron strokes his hand through Nasir's long hair, soothing the sleeping man on his chest. It has been hours since the attack, the night getting deeper and deeper, and the royals have fallen into silent exhaustion, each one scattering to their own space. 

Both Agron and Nasir are dressed simply, Agron in a tan subligaria with a belt holding it in place, clear of blood and the burning rage. Against him, Nasir curls around his side in white, loose pants, sans all jewelry and make up, hair piled high on the top of his head in a bun to beat the heat. He looks so young, so tiny next to his husband, and Tove feels a rush of emotion for them. They aren't the princes, right now, but just men, desperately trying to cling to their lives. 

“Perhaps we should all fall to bed and discuss this in the morning,” Spartacus' scratchy voice sounds from the corner of the room. He's sitting tall and stern in a wooden backed chair, gazing across the fire to Agron.

“Father told us to wait for him,” Duro mumbles, dozily lifting his head from where he sprawled on a thick blanket. The wine from before has worn off, but he is left sober and miserably awake. “He will not be pleased if we disobey.”

“You almost died, Duro,” Tove cuts in, shaking his head, “I think he would understand.” 

“You don't know our father,” Duro snaps icily, fueled by his exhaustion. He doesn't mean to be so course, but he knows his next statements are true. “He'd rather one of us die than disobey him.”

“I think I know him just as well as you do,” Tove bites back, eyes flaring with light for a moment. “You are not the only one who has suffered from his rages.”

“Oh of course, Tove, let me sympathize with you.” Duro rolls to sitting, glaring out at his cousin. “Perhaps we should compare scars?”

Nasir groans at the raised voices, nuzzling his face cutely against Agron's hard side before opening his eyes. His stomach jolts the moment he begins to regain consciousness. It seems the child inside of him detests mornings just as much as Nasir does. 

“What is going on? Is Gerulf here?” Nasir asks, blinking slowly up at Agron. 

Caressing his smooth cheek, Agron urges his head back down, pulling him closer. “It's nothing. Just the yelling of stupid shits.”

“Fuck off Agron,” Tove barks, violet gaze eerie in the red hued room. 

“I suggest you shut the fuck up now,” Agron begins, voice soft and even to not disturb Nasir, but vicious still, “or I will not be so pleasant when I show you out.”

“What are we even doing here? We should be out there, hunting down the fucks who nearly killed us. Not sitting around like cowering children.” Duro snarls, slamming his hand down onto his blanket. The muffled smack wakes Nasir again, who whines high pitched as he burrows his face against Agron's thick shoulder. 

“Rash decisions made on drunken minds and empty stomachs will not serve anyone's cause.” Spartacus responds wisely, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. “Duro, look at us. Do we look ready to start a war? You can barely keep your eyes open. Tove is still fucking drunk. Your brother is a slow blink away from falling asleep, and the most powerful out of all of us depleted his magic in order to save your life. If we went out now, we would all die and then what would be purpose?”

Thoroughly scolded, Duro picks at the side of his sandal, crossing his legs before him. He supposes Spartacus is right. None of them are of sound mind to go out and hunt vampires. They are barely going to be able to stumble back to their own tents. The sun is soon to rise and yet none of them have truly gotten any rest. 

“Agron,” Nasir rubs his dry lips together, “Can we not retire to sleep?”

“Soon, my love.” Agron kisses Nasir's forehead, curling one hand in his hair, “We must wait on my father.”

“I miss the softness of our bed,” Nasir sighs, sounding crushed, “I feel we have not been in it together in a long time.”

“You mourn for something we only left a few hours ago,” Agron teases, reaching over to pull Nasir closer, positioning him between Agron's thighs, head on his chest. “Is this not softer than miserably ground?”

“Nothing on you is soft, my king.” Nasir murmurs around a yawn. “Nothing.”

Agron is about to retort, fingers moving in small circles on Nasir's scalp, when suddenly the door of the tent is thrown open. Gerulf strides inside, flanked closely by a blood soaked Sedullus. Agron notices instantly the large man's eyes roving over Nasir, tracing along the inches of hip now revealed when Agron has pulled him over. A deep growl resonates through the tent as Agron sits up a little, cradling Nasir protectively to his chest. 

“Sons,” Gerulf booms, narrowing his eyes at Agron and the prone position he lays in, “I am glad you are both gathered, we have much to discuss.”

“You told us to gather,” Duro barely contains the grumble from his voice, “Father.”

Easing the now fully awake Nasir off of him, Agron moves to stand, keeping his husband behind him. A itch begins to grow in the base of Agron's spine, like the feeling one gets right before an attack is launched. It is not the first time that Agron has felt the threat of his father and his bodyguard. 

“Do you have a son or a husband, Agron? Treat him like a man.” Gerulf rolls his eyes, motioning with his hand for Tove to get out of his chair. 

“Perhaps both, my king,” Sedullus' blue eyes wink at Nasir as the small man peers around Agron's side, huge eyes gleaming. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Agron barks, stance widening protectively.

Sedullus shrugs, eyebrow cocked. He does not feel like arguing with the prince, nor enticing his anger. Not when his husband will be Sedullus' prize after tonight. 

Nasir will chalk it up to the baby. It's all the baby's fault. And since he can't really tell anyone, he can't really ask when this is supposed to end. But suddenly, he can not contain the acid crawling up his throat. Stumbling next to Agron, Nasir bends at the waist and spews wine and fruit all over Sedullus' feet, the liquid oozing between the straps of his sandals. He is not done though. Nasir bends further and wretches three more times, the air filling with the foul smell of it. 

Agron's hands are soft and gentle on Nasir's waist, pulling him back, easing him down into a random chair. He ignores Sedullus' cries of disgust, Duro and Tove's barely contained giggles. Instead, he focuses on making soft soothing noises at Nasir, taking the offered water from Spartacus and pressing it to Nasir's mouth. 

“Too much wine,” Nasir mumbles weakly, nuzzling into Agron's hand when he brushes a stray hair back. 

“A fate he much deserves,” Agron smirks, kissing Nasir's temple. Nasir is easily subdued at Agron's pleased look. 

Gerulf does not let Sedullus leave, though he glares with his dark, glowing eyes over at the pair. Nasir does not miss the look and curls his feet under him, gripping Agron's hand tightly. He has never trusted the king, not since he split Agron's wrist before him, seeming nonchalant as his son's life flowed out. And the calculating look on Gerulf's face is so familiar, looks like Agron's, but there is malice in Gerulf's where in Agron's there is just blinding fury. 

Nasir wonders for a moment if perhaps that's what fuels Agron. He may never know the full story, but there is something there – a story of Gerulf and Agron and Agron's mother. What is it about Agron that Gerulf can not love? He is the perfect heir – big and strong and sure of himself. He can fight and drink and command just as a prince should. And yet, Agron has a tenderness to him. It shows in the gentle way he holds Nasir. The teasingly rough way he manipulates Duro into shedding his duty and playing around with Agron. The laughter Agron can pull from the usually solemn Spartacus. 

“As Sedullus was disposing of the vampires' bodies, he found a letter on one of them.” Gerulf's voice is so loud in the tent. Duro instinctively moves closer to his brother at the tone, leaning against Nasir's chair with his fingers wrapped around the little prince's ankle. Even if he can't reach Agron, being this close to Nasir helps. 

“What did it say?” Agron plays along. His father claims he doesn't like theatrics, and yet makes a show of everything.

“It's a description of the layout of our city,” Gerulf answers bluntly, “and instructions of when is best to attack.”

“They're sending more?” Tove asks, arms crossed over his chest. He looks so similar to Agron, standing next to his cousin, huge towers of men. 

“It appears so,” Gerulf shrugs, “Perhaps those soldiers you killed on the border, Nasir, had something to do with it?”

Nasir looks up, affronted. “They weren't vampires. They were mages. My magic was just stronger than theirs'.” He tries not to dwell on the memory of it – singed hair and flesh, the screaming of a foreign tongue, and Tove's bloody mouth as he shoved through the crowd, nearly knocking Nasir over in his attempt to grab him. 

Duro caresses his fingers along the bone of Nasir's ankle, a silent apology. He wonders distantly if the guilt is ever going to go away, if they'll ever be able to get over it. Nasir lets his hand fall down onto the back of his head, gently caressing the curls there – a forgiveness – and Duro finds it easier to breathe. 

“It's true. We thought they were shifters at first, but they had familiars,” Tove confirms, nodding. 

Gerulf looks put off by their adding to his story, shifting in his chair. He had not anticipated this – the union of his family, usually so prone to falling under his rule. Stroking his beard, he shares a secret look with Sedullus, both of them seeming to be calculating their next move. He must establish dominance.

“Where is the letter now?” Spartacus asks, turning his attention to the large guard. 

“Ruined by blood. I was barely able to read the ink before it smeared.” Sedullus offers easily. 

“But there is a chance it is not true?” Spartacus urges the topic. “That it had not been delivered and there is no threat. The assassins failed, and once the vampires hear of the repercussions for their attempt, they will not come.”

“The letter said they were coming.” Sedullus' voice dips, anger hinting along the vowels. “The leeches are not to be trusted. They will attack us.”

“Does the threat of a vampire nation not worry you?” Gerulf asks, turning his gaze over the young men. “Should we not let every blood sucker into our walls? To kill our women and children? Steal those who we hold most dear?”

Agron does not miss the pointed look Gerulf throws at Nasir, who curls tighter against his side. For a fleeting moment, for just a breath, Agron suddenly wishes Nasir wasn't here. Wasn't that shining beacon in Agron's life. He shouldn't be used as the the bargaining token for Agron's unwavering loyalty. Because when it comes to Nasir, Agron will always cave. Will always fight and scream and battle and rage until the whole entire world is falling apart. There is nothing above or below or here that will stop Agron if it means Nasir is happy, is safe. Is looking at him with those big eyes and gentle smile.

“What would you have me do?” Agron asks suddenly, playing easily into his father's grasp. He knows that regardless of what he wants to do, that this conversation is is leading to Gerulf's command. Agron isn't in the position to refuse his father, let alone the king. 

“We must put a stop to their attack, premeditate their advance.” Gerulf leans forward, hands on his knees. 

“You want to go to war.” Agron does not question it. Knows from the glint in Gerulf's eyes. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he hears Nasir's gasp, Duro turning his head. They are trying to catch his eyes, catch his words midair and take them back. Gobble down his recklessness. Across the flames, Agron catches Spartacus' gaze, the pained sympathy there. Bound by selfish and selfless brotherhood, Spartacus already knows that he would follow his king into the afterlife if that is what Agron wants to do. 

“We must protect our people. You are my right hand, my first son, and commander of our men.” Gerulf stands slowly, moving across the dirt to clap Agron's shoulder. Sincerity drips from Gerulf's words, but it is all false. He does not care, as long as Agron leaves. 

“It must be you, Agron. You must lead them.”

Refusing to look to the side, Agron nods once, feeling the acidic creeping of fear and anxiety crawling up his throat. It has been a long time since he was thrown into battle, a true war, not since he commanded the first war at seventeen. Now he is older, yes, and has a stronger sense of sword and death, but things had been so peaceful for so long. A few little matches along the way, but nothing to lead to this. It's all sudden and yet planned, calculated. He hates the man before him, for so many reasons, but this? Agron knows there must be a plot behind it. Why would Gerulf send him now? 

“Good. I expect you to leave in few days time.” Gerulf turns to head towards the door when suddenly Nasir springs up. A last ditch effort from a desperate man.

“You don't even know if they're coming or not.” His voice does not crack but is high in volume. “You can't just send him off to die for something that might not even happen!”

“Nasir, no.” Agron tries to grab him, hold him back, but Nasir is too quick, dashing around to stand before Gerulf, caught between him and the doorway. 

“I will do as I please. I am the king.” Gerulf growls, “and my son is the prince. He must command our men. You on the other hand -”

“You can't do this. It's too reckless. Think of your people. Think of your son,” Nasir cries again, hands balled into fists at his side. “They didn't even attack you. They attacked Duro. Shouldn't Duro be the one to make this call?”

“You test my patience, little witch.” Gerulf's voice dips, “I have repeated to you too many times already. I am the king. I am the god of this land. What I say goes, and I say we are to war!”

“We are not prepared. Half your people are sick from your lack of concern for them. I have healed over a hundred people since being here because you would rather engorge yourself on blood-” Nasir does not expect the hand to curl around his chin, slamming him against one of the pillars of the tent. It shakes the whole structure, Sedullus growls in his face, teeth long and drooling. 

“For such a little witch, you speak as if titan.” Sedullus' voice is slurred, fingertips denting Nasir's cheeks with his nails, “Perhaps I will cut tongue from mouth to teach you proper manners to our king.”

“Remove _fucking_ hand,” Agron is there, sword pressed tightly to the back of Sedullus' neck, half changed to wolf form, “Or see it removed for you.”

Spartacus' sword presses to Sedullus' wrist, expression a duplicate of Agron's – pure rage. 

“Sedullus, let go.” Gerulf commands, voice shaking the earth it seems with its volume. 

Slowly, Sedullus releases Nasir's face with a dark, cocky grin. He will not do it yet, not claim what will be his, not while Agron and his little pet Spartacus linger. But soon they will be gone. To war. And Sedullus will finally assume the role as loyal son. Stepping back with hands raised to stand next to Gerulf once more, mock surrender.

“Agron,” Gerulf turns his gaze to his son, “Tomorrow we will discuss strategy. Fall to your bed and see morning light quickly upon us.”

It is his final command. He leaves with a dull slap of hide and Sedullus follows, lingering at the door just long enough to wink at Nasir, blowing a kiss at him. Agron's growl rumbles like the coming of a storm, stepping before his husband, but then the giant is gone and the air is breathable again. 

“Are you alright?” Agron turns, reaching for Nasir's face, but his hands are quickly slapped away. 

“I am fine. Do not treat me as a child.” Nasir fumes, stomping over to table in corner and pouring himself a cup of wine. 

Hands flying to his hair, Agron bites back quick retort at his husband's actions, instead turning to look at his first general. Spartacus' attention is still drawn to the doorway, but under Agron's gleaming gaze, he turns back – trying and failing to produce a reassuring smile. 

“Go to bed, brother, and see the dawning of new light to reason.” Spartacus claps Agron's shoulder gently before turning and departing as well. 

Duro and Tove move together, shoulders brushing as they walk towards the doorway, Duro lingering just half a second. He wants to say something, can feel the tension brewing between the two princes, but what could he say? He knows that no matter what Nasir begs for, gives up, that Agron will follow what Gerulf says. They have to. To save themselves and each other. 

Left alone, Agron moves around the tent, pushing pillows back in place and picking up stray cups. He can see out of the corner of his eye that Nasir has filled another goblet of wine, drinking it quickly before slamming the wood down on the table. His shoulders heave with contained emotion, but Agron is not sure yet if it wants to unleash that storm. Choice is ripped from hands as Nasir turns. 

“When will this end?” Nasir asks, voice surprisingly soft for the fury on his face. “When we will be able to enjoy our marriage? Our lives together?”

“I don't know.” Agron answers honestly, feeling his gut twist at the realization that he doesn't. They may never get a happy ending at this rate. 

“Why didn't you fight him? Why didn't you tell him that it's a reckless move?” Nasir moves forward, crowding close to Agron. Barefoot like this, his head is only shoulder high, having to crane his neck back to look at his husband. 

“He is the king.” Agron has been saying that line for so long – so many years. 

“You don't have to do everything he says. You're the prince. You could rise up, fight him.” Nasir tries, fingers lacing through Agron's, raising to kiss his knuckles. “You are loved. Your people adore you. I hear it constantly. You are not your father.”

“Nasir, choice is not in my hands.” Agron shakes his head, gently brushing a hair from Nair's face. He's taken his bun down, letting the strands fall around his shoulders, his chest. 

“It is!” Nasir yanks away, unable to keep the fire brewing in his chest if Agron touches him like that. “You are so strong until it comes to him.”

“Nasir, this is the way our lives are. Until my father falls, we are at his command.” Agron tries to reason, already feeling drained from the argument but the longer it goes, the angrier he seems to grow. Why can't Nasir just understand?

“Then I wish I had never come here! I wish I had never met you!” Nasir shouts, rounding back again. He knows it is the wine that is making him so bold, but he can't seem to stop. 

“I never asked you to come here!” Agron's voice raises, “And I never asked for vampires to attack us. It just happened.”

He looms over Nasir, keeping his wolf back but just barely. Agron would never put his hands on Nasir, but his anger crackles and burns in his chest as Nasir stands defiant and seething. 

"I wish I hadn't married you. I wish you had never looked at me like that. I wish you had never made me feel anything," Nasir shouts, shaking his head vehemently. "I didn't want you to touch me the way you do - like I'm stripped bare and overflowing. I didn't want you at all."

"I'm sorry." Agron sighs, rubbing his hands into his hair. He'll let that fester, wound growing. 

"I didn't want to, but I do and I need you." Nasir surges forward, gripping Agron's hand again, pulling it to his face. “I need you. Do not leave me here.”

“It is out of my control.” Agron shakes his head, staring at his little prince, his shining husband. “Everything I do, everything I am, I am because of him. He is my father. My king. I have nothing to say but yes.”

"Agron, please," Nasir begs, fingers desperate as they crawl up Agron's wrist to his arm, "I'm begging you. Don't do this."

He's crying, stripped from his jewels and crown, long hair curling around him. Nasir stands there openly, a thin pair of white pants hanging loosely around his hips. He's never looked so young, eyes dark and huge in the dim light. And yet, it's not enough. 

"I have to go, Nasir. I'm the prince, the captain of the army, the heir apparent." Agron explains again, shaking his head. He has said this over and over so many times in his head, trying to convince himself. "My father calls and I must answer."

"Fuck your father!" Nasir spits viciously, shoving Agron away as hard as he can. "And fuck you!"

Stumbling back, Agron turns away from Nasir, gathering his sword belt in his hand. It feels like the weight of the world, so heavy in Agron's arms when he can hear Nasir sobbing like that. He wants to sooth it, fix this, but he just can't. It is his duty - to his father and to his people - and though it hurts Nasir the worst, Agron has to go.

"I told you I would have to go to war soon, Nasir. I told you the day of our wedding." Agron sighs, staring at the side of the tent, "I warned you."

Silence falls over the tent for a moment, just the crackling of the fire. Tension thick and palpable, rising and fuming before Nasir speaks, soft and so very fucking broken. 

"I'm pregnant." 

Agron's eyes fall closed, taking a deep breath. He lets the words wash over him, repeat over and over in his head, a mantra that he doesn't want to quit. The honesty, the sincerity, the possibility of the life growing inside of Nasir's body. And if Agron was king. If Agron had control. He could see himself caving, staying with Nasir. 

“I know.” 

Turning, Agron stares at Nasir sadly, feeling like the space between them is miles and not feet. 

“I smelled it on you when Tove carried you back from the woods. I thought it was just something you caught, and then it stayed with you. I didn't realize what it was until we were in the bathtub together.” Agron explains, smiling sadly. “You smell so much sweeter. My wolf just wants to be near you all the time, curl around you, protect you. You have know idea how hard it's been to keep you distant from me.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” Nasir whispers, fingers trembling as he presses them to his lips. 

“What could I have said? You were afraid of me. I hurt you. Duro hurt you. You didn't – You don't want me.” Agron ducks his head. “I didn't want to force you to stay when I thought you were going to run. If you had wanted to go, I would have let you.”

“Agron,” Nasir steps forward, gently taking both of his husband's hands into his own. “This is our child, our baby.” He presses one of Agron's hands to his stomach. “We belong with you.”

“Is it what I see sometimes when you kiss me?” Agron's voice is barely above a whisper. 

“Yes.” Nasir confirms, tears rolling down his cheeks. “It's the magic. It wanted you to know.”

“They're beautiful,” Agron rests his forehead down on Nasir's, nuzzling his nose against his, “Perfect.”

“And you may never know them,” Nasir whimpers, lifting his arms to wrap around Agron's neck, “if you leave me now. And what will I tell them of their father? That I could not make him stay? We could not make him stay?” 

“Tell them,” Agron cups Nasir's face, kissing him tenderly, breathing the words against his lips, “that I loved you, both of you, enough to go and protect you. Even if it cost me my life. My life for yours.”

“Agron, please.” Nasir caresses his fingers through Agron's short hair. “Please.”

Their lips meet, desperate kisses as Nasir's tears tinge them with salt. Agron's fingers curling in Nasir's hair, caressing it back from his face, holding his head back so Agron can plunge his tongue inside his mouth. Nasir unfurls under him, opening his mouth wider, hands desperate and body siren calling for intimacy. Agron gives him all he can, gives him every part he's ever had. He wants to memorize every second, every taste and touch and sound, so when he's away, Agron will remember it. 

Nasir shudders in a breath, raising up on his toes to better reach Agron. He's so tall, so strong, and Nasir wants to pull him, keep him close and safe. But how do you keep a man like this? How can Nasir hold him back from the wrath of the world? He is but one man, desperately holding onto another, begging the world to just spare them – just for one more day.

With sure hands, Agron slides his palms down Nasir's back, gripping his ass and lifting him easily into the air. He's so light in his arms, so easy to manhandle with his legs around Agron's waist. Distantly, he wonders if this will be the last time he'll have Nasir so completely, if ever again. He can not dwell on that though. Refuses. 

Agron drops to his knees on a blanket, leading them forward as he lays Nasir onto his back, pulling back to stare down at his husband. The fire next to them shines across his bare skin, reflecting in his still streaming eyes. He's more, more than Agron expected, thought. He's everything. Trailing his hands down Nasir's sides, Agron eases his nearly translucent pants down and off, stripping Nasir bare. His skin shines with tiny flecks of gold as Nasir gazes up at him through half lidded eyes, magic thrumming between them. He's so perfect, so beautiful, and Agron can feel his eyes widening, trying to map every inch of him. He kisses down Nasir's neck, his shoulders, his chest, and his stomach. Licks along his hips, nuzzles his beard against Nasir's soft thighs. He does not want to forget a single freckle on Nasir's tan skin.

Sitting up, Nasir kisses across Agron's chest, fingers working on the ties of his belt, easily slipping his subligaria off. The muscles of Agron's body twitch under his desperate, wet lips. He's a titan but Nasir can feel the softness under the hard. He's not completely stone, and Nasir's hands spread down Agron's back, holding him closer, keeping him there. Agron's reaches automatically for his hair, cradling his head to his collarbones. Stripped down like this, nothing separating them, it feels like the rest of the world is dulled, silenced as Nasir tilts his head back, tears leaving wet droplets on Agron's stomach. 

“Agron.” Nasir begs again, voice breaking. 

“Shhh.” Agron rubs his thumb along Nasir's bruised mouth, slipping inside for just a moment. Nasir sucks on the digit, eyes growing bigger, flames getting higher.

The air is suffocating, heat of the summer and the fire crackling and popping beside them. Nasir moves onto his knees, pressing his body fully along Agron's. They're both hard but the pain is so palpable between them it's not even about the rushing need. Nasir kisses Agron like he's drowning, drinking him down, hands restless as they move down the planes of Agron's back, his waist, his hips, and thighs. Willing spells of protection and life and safety into every inch of Agron. 

Sweat slicks Agron's body as he pulls away, moving just a few feet to pull the bowl of oil from the bedside table and to the floor. The minute he sits down, Nasir is there, crawling into his lap, thighs gripping around his waist. Agron's hands overlap, sliding up and down Nasir's back in soft caresses, getting lower until he parts him, pressing against his hole. 

Nasir tilts his head back, hair falling in black curls to Agron's thighs as the first finger breaches him, moaning loudly. He wants it now. Craves the press, the splitting of Agron's body inside of him, and yet he wishes he could make this last forever. It's so cruel, knowing this may be the last time and it's only the second time and when Agron's finger pressing against him Nasir lets out a broken cry, a stray tear sliding down his cheek. 

Agron's tongue chases it, laps the salt from Nasir's jaw as he kisses there, pumping his finger inside him, adding another and then another, spreading Nasir open for him. The oil helps and the sweat and the sweltering heat, the gleaming lines of gold that usually slide along Nasir's skin when they're like this, rub off, trailing from Nasir's fingertips onto Agron's chest. The magic surges and Agron watches in half amazement as Nasir is no longer the one glowing but he is too, cloaked in the ripples of shining gold and bronze. 

“I am ready,” Nasir begs in tiny gasps, pressing his lips to Agron's ear, “Please, my king, please.”

His hands are huge on Nasir's hips as he holds him, kissing him deeply, lifting him. The first inch breaks their kiss, Nasir gasping and crying out against Agron's mouth. They press their foreheads together, staring at one another as Agron drops Nasir slowly, further and further until he sits full in Agron's lap again, speared through. 

Gripping his hair in the back of his head, Agron holds Nasir still, lapping against his open mouth. There is no room between them, Nasir's arms over Agron's shoulders; holding tightly to him, nails digging into his shoulder blades. He wonders if he could make Agron stay like this, if they could always be right on the brink forever, suspended in pleasure and longing and love. 

Agron can see out of the corner of his eye that the fire has expanded, and with a crack, a flame breaks from within the stone circle and slides across the floor. It curls along Nasir's leg, up over his chest and onto Agron's, circling him. It's like before, not burning but warm, a flicker of it slipping up his jaw and Nasir laps it away, swallowing it down. When they kiss, he tastes like warmth and smoke. 

His magic crackles further, the air growing dense as Nasir rolls his hips, guided by Agron's sure hands. He doesn't bounce, but rides with short little thrusts, spinning his body in tight little figure eights, gasping his breath against Agron's face. The pleasure grows with each movement, Nasir's flushed cock leaking between them, dripping along his stomach and Agron's. 

Agron keeps the pace, hand on Nasir's hip and in his hair, guiding him when Nasir bounces down sharply, chasing the feeling. The fire swirling along them is nothing compared to the inferno of Nasir's body, tight and wet and gripping heat that drags his cock in deeper and deeper, squeezes down on it in delicious friction. He already feels close, already brought to the edge as Nasir cries out at the ceiling, Agron's cock dragging rough and thick against this prostate. 

He wants to say something, to reassure Nasir, but no words can come out of his gaping mouth. What a fool he had been to push Nasir away when really all he wanted was this, all he needed was Agron to hold him, give him love in the most physical way. Agron had been fighting a war against himself when it was so much sweeter to give him, give Nasir the reassurance their bodies desired. 

Pulling back from his biting kisses on Agron's neck, Nasir presses his hands behind him, leaning back to watch as his body moves on top, hips rolling and flexing his abs. Gold drips with precome down his stomach, slicking Agron's with shining yellow and white. His cock bobs with each swing of his hips, flushed and smacking lightly on his skin from the movement. Agron's hands are so big when they spread down his chest and onto his stomach, spinning his navel ring with his fingers as Agron leans down, latching onto Nasir's nipple, sucking biting pleasure that forces a high cry from Nasir's mouth. 

Agron pulls him back, fingers mapping over and over down his spine, claws trailing as a threat but not pain. He won't hurt Nasir that way, even as he bites into his neck, fangs piercing the skin. Nasir cries out in pleasure, hands fisting in Agrons' hair to keep him there. The blood is sweet against Agron's tongue, and when he laps it it, just a few droplets, he feels Nasir's whole body shudder, moans growing and growing. 

Nasir can not tell anymore where he stops or where Agron begins. Can not tell the difference between the flames on Agron's skin and his own. They are one, dripping sweat and seed and gold and fire. There is so much fire. It circles them, encloses them, separates them from the pain out of the outside world, sparking crimson and yellow and blue. 

He's too close, already there, pulling back to stare at Agron's face. His eyes are glowing, mouth open and fangs glinting and Nasir gives in, lets the pleasure over take him. He comes with a gasp, body spasming and the flames grow higher, licking the ceiling, crawling over them in sharp little bursts of light. The whole world melts, dripping over them as Nasir's body shakes, seed coating up Agron's chest, his stomach, his hips. It slicks them even more as Agron's grip tightens, lifting him and slamming him down as he sees fit, wanting to join him. 

Agron forgets to breath, holding Nasir's tightly to him as he thrusts up, digging his cock deeper into Nasir's tightening channel. It's too good and Nasir's hands are so tender on his face, holding his jaw as he kisses his mouth weakly. They've forgotten how easy it is to open up under one another and Agron nearly misses the words had Nasir not breathed them into his mouth. 

“I love you.”

It feels like his spine has been ripped from his back as Agron's hands curl over the back of Nasir's shoulders, holding him down and open as Agron reaches completion. It fills him and fills him and fills him with too much and it's so hot but Nasir kisses Agron's mouth like he's drinking in the sun – a burning and overflowing of pleasure that pulls a deep growl from Agron's chest. 

Agron holds Nasir's face in his hands, kissing him over and over, dizzying little pecks until Nasir opens up and it's bliss, pure light and neither pull away until they are in fear of suffocating, staying close to gasp against each other's bruised and bloody mouths. And if this isn't the highest intimacy, most blessed pleasure, neither know what is. 

The fire slowly recedes back into it's pit, the room growing dim without it, and cooler. The gold falls away and they are left open and raw in the darkness. Caressing his fingers down Nasir's cheek, Agron gazes at his husband, the sweaty clinging to his body, the curled hair, the large, dark eyes. He smiles weakly, energy gone from after his racing completion. 

“You were your father's jewel,” Agron murmurs through dried lips, “but you are my moon. You are higher than anything in this world.”

Nasir smiles tiredly, fingers trailing down Agron's stubble. “And you are my heart.”

“I love you, you must know that.” Agron kisses Nasir's fingertips when they get to his lips. “You must know that I go but for you, not for him. Not for my father.”

Nasir nods, kissing the space between Agron's eyebrows. He does not wish to move yet, enjoys the feeling of being this close, this full. 

“Are you alright?” Agron tentatively lays a hand on Nasir's stomach, rubbing gently. “I did not mean to be so rough.”

“It is still very small,” Nasir laughs lightly, shaking his head, “You will not harm it or me.”

Agron grins delighted up at him, fingers drumming gently on Nasir's soft skin. He asks without asking and Nasir smiles, laying his palm over the back of Agron's, eyes fluttering closed. 

It's nearly the same image as before. The same woods. The same scent of cinnamon and jasmine. This time though, Agron sits where the wolf one did, holding the child in his huge arms. The baby coos when another figure comes to sit next to Agron, leaning heavily on him. The crown of flames and moons is still slowly swaying around Nasir's head, but when he gets closer, it sends a spark to ensnare around the child's. Nothing is around them but then suddenly there is, a swelling of music and sounds and the baby grips tightly to Agron's hand and a piece of Nasir's hair. 

Glowing eyes turn to look away from each other, seeming to feel the magic's gaze and Nasir slowly pulls them back to reality. The tent feels like a dream compared to their shared image as Agron's hand slips from Nasir's skin. 

“Son or daughter?” Agron asks, no expectation in his voice. 

“I don't know,” Nasir shakes his head, brushing his knuckles over his navel, “but they are strong and seem to only be calm when you are near.”

“Then I will not be gone for long.” 

Agron lifts them then, walks the short distance to the bed where he lays them down, slipping from Nasir's body. He doesn't move far though, curling tightly to Nasir's back, encircling with his large arms, cradling him until there is not even a breath between their bodies, tilting Nasir's head back for a gentle kiss. 

They stay that way until the dawn peaks under the edges of the tent, neither succumbing to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to add me on [tumblr](venomedveins.tumblr.com) and send me little prompts if you want!
> 
> also, as an fyi, I'm going to finally FUCKING FINALLY write my horror fic that I've been meaning to for forever. It's about Youtube star Duro and camping and Nagron and yes. Just yes. So keep an eye out for it!


End file.
